


Short Stories: Strangers, Friends, Lovers

by Viking_woman



Series: Tales of the Inquisition: Iwyn Lavellan Canon [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Inquisition Timeline, POV Multiple, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Development, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Story Collection, Vignette, glimpses from a romance, sub solas (sort of)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 23,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10765659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viking_woman/pseuds/Viking_woman
Summary: NEW: Chapter 27: BlueNEW: Chapter 28: RootsNEW: Chapter 31: ShadowsCollection of drabbles and short stories about my inquisitor Iwyn Lavellan. This is not a full story, but glimpses and vignettes from her time as Inquisitor, from the Conclave to Trespasser. Most of these focus on her relationship with Solas, but others are friendship focused. Angst, fluff and smut all together.Posted in chronological order, not the order written. Each piece can be read on its own. Feel free to browse through :)NSFW pieces will be noted in the chapter notes.Many of these are prompted and written for Friday night DA drunk writing circle (@dadrunkwriting on tumblr).





	1. Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some pre-relationship Solavellan, set in Haven. Solas goes for a walk.

The sun is painting the mountains red and gold, vivid colors against the stark green glow of the breech. Solas takes a deep breath of cold air, and continues his walk. He still feels too raw, at times, around people.

Here, all he can hear is the crisp snow under his feet and the quiet calls of dusk birds. The Inquisition soldiers in Haven have stopped their endless practicing.

Then he hears a deep growl. Close. He freezes in place. He can handle a bear, but it will still leave him drained. He feels something hit his arm, a sprinkle of snow.

“Up.”

A whisper above him, in the tree. He looks up, and catches a glimpse of Iwyn Lavellan’s red hair, bright against the branches.

“You’re disturbing them,“ she whispers, a little more urgently.

Solas grabs a low branch, and pulls himself up. It has been a long time since he climbed a tree. Once he has pulled himself off the ground, he begins to climb higher. The branches are slippery with snow and he isn’t sure how she got up there without disturbing it. No matter, he soon sits next to her, high up in a tree.

Iwyn smiles, and gently touch his shoulder. “Well done.”

“Did you not think I could climb a tree, lethallan?”

She smiles again. “How would I know? I don’t know that much about you, Solas.”

He can’t help to smile back, and he suddenly wants her to say his name again, his real name, a real sound formed by her lips.

“What was I disturbing?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer, but points through a gap in the branches. He has to lean a little closer to look where she does, and then he sees them.

“Bears?”

“A mother and 2 cubs. She is very protective. I hope all the noise in Haven is not too disruptive. “

Solas looks back at her then, and not the bears. The bow she clutches in her left hand, a green glow over the worn wood. Her relaxed pose, high in the tree. His face contorts in a frown, he has disturbed her more than he ever could the bears.


	2. I Scout...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan convinces her companions to play a Dalish game. Cassandra POV.

They are going find a Druffalo. And rescue it. She assumes some Inquisition goodwill will be helpful, but this task seems particular ridiculous. She is sure Varric will complain soon. She can’t hold back a loud sigh. 

Right on clue, Varric speaks up. “Why are we doing this again, your Herald-ness? Do we even know where this beast wandered off to?”

“I feel sorry for these people, Varric,” the elvish woman replies. “Let us do what we can, it should only be a little of our time.”

Solas, the apostate, nods approvingly. 

“Ok, ok. Going around farms. Looking for livestock. This inquisition of yours is sure an exciting venture, Seeker.” Varric is behind her, but Cassandra knows he is rolling his eyes. 

Without wanting to, she lets out a noise. That dwarf, why does he have to be so aggravating. 

“Let us play a game,” the Herald says, a smile on her lips. “It is something Dalish hunters to pass time,“ Solas mutters something incomprehensible under his breath, “it is called ‘I scout’. I am going to give you clues on something I can see, and you guys will guess what I see.”

“Give it a shot,“ Varric says. 

“I scout… something with big ears! “ Lavellan says. 

Cassandra wonders if she means herself, or maybe Solas, and if it would be even appropriate to say so, when Solas speaks up. 

“Ah, easy. A Fennec, there by the rocks”

“I had to start easy. You go next, Solas.”

“I scout something very dangerous,“ he says then. 

“Cassandra’s cheekbones,” Varric says, immediately. 

How dare he! “What!”

“Dangerous to who, Varric?” That apostate sounds… pleased? “That is not it. I scout something made of wood and metal.“ 

“That will be Varric’s crossbow,” she states. Maybe this game is not half bad. 

“Excellent, Cassandra. I believe you are up next!”

They’re at a stream now, still no sight of the Maker-forsaken Druffalo. And she needs to find something for them to guess. 

“I scout… “ She looks around, something interesting, other than grass and rocks and water. “DEMONS!”

“You’re not supposed to… oh!” Varric loads his crossbow. 

The battle is on.


	3. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Branwen Lavellan, Inquisitor Iwyn Lavellan’s younger brother, First of Clan Lavellan. This is set sometime after the Conclave.

_The air is damp. The ground cold beneath him, the wet mud clinging to his bare feet. The door of the hut opens, and Iwyn is there. His sister gestures to him, to come closer. He tries to move, but he is stuck, the mud is up to his calves._

_“Branwen! Brannie!” she calls, but he can’t move. There is water pouring down a waterfall behind her house, into the endless dark of the pool surrounding it. The path in front of him sinks into the pool, and water laps at his calves._

_“Iwyn!” He calls. The water is rising, but she doesn’t care. She smiles and waves at him. The stone of the Wycome Chantry rises above her, slick with water pouring out of the tower. Branwen wades through the water, but the distance to her remains the same._

_Iwyn looks up then, and her eyes widen. “Get out!” she yells and the snow comes down heavily. He can’t see her in the blizzard. He yells for her again. There is a great sound rumbling sound and then he is standing on clear sheet of ice. There is no sign of the Chantry or his sister. A wolf is howling, a lonely pitiful sound._

 

Branwen sits straight up in the furs. His breath is short and he is confused a moment, the air is warm when it should be freezing. He frowns and pounds his fist into the ground. The disjointed feeling of helplessness is still with him.

The Fade. He is not a Dreamer, but he does remember his dreams at times. This felt different. Is his sister in danger? Why would it snow in Wycome Chantry? Or are there demons preying on his mind?

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He dresses with hurried movements, and is halfway to the Keeper’s araval before he stops, taking a deep breath in the pre-dawn light. He kicks a stone, it flies and rolls to a stop in the dirt, useless. He knows what Deshanna will say. His duty is here. She already contacted this shem ‘Inquisition’ and Iwyn replied. His sister has always wanted something more than a Dalish camp, and her small note indicated she was curious and well treated. Still, something is wrong. He runs back to his own dwelling, ready to pack and back and leave before the rest of the camp wakes. He stops in the doorway, his knuckles turning white as they grab the door frame.

He feels so helpless. He can’t leave. The clan needs him, it has only been a month since the previous First left. He wishes he could protect his sister, so far away, even if she never asked for it, he never could offer her anything she can’t do on her own.

Branwen turns from the araval, and hurries out of the camp. Down to the lake, the sunrise painting the sky pink.

If only he was better. Or older. Or had convinced Deshanna to let him go with Iwyn to the Conclave. He bends and finds a rock on the shore, throws it high into the air over the water. Then he blasts it with a lightning bolt, exploding it into small rock pieces raining down on the lake. He does it again and again until his mana is spent and the dream has left his mind.


	4. Sera and Lavellan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the an OC prompt ask: Who pushed Iwyn in a pool?
> 
> The answer is Sera, definitely Sera.

It is cold and damp and dark in the Fallow Mire. It is the least pleasant place Iwyn has ever been. The Inquisition camp has been set up, but she doubts the tents can keep the rain out. The corpses rising from the swamp is almost a minor annoyance compared to the weather. 

“Hey, Inquisitor! Get over here!” Sera is calling. Iwyn makes her way to the other archer. Sera is still a puzzle for her, fast talking, confusing at times. So many jokes, and Iwyn doesn’t feel like joking at all. 

“What do you want, Sera?” They are standing together on a small rock overlooking a body of water. More swamp. 

“Watch this!” Before she has a change to react, she is shoved in the water. The cold, slimy, undead infested water. 

“Sera!” When she resurfaces, Sera is grinning, doubled over. “There are undead in here!“ 

"Loosen up. You keep having that look on your face, ” Sera says through laughter. Iwyn doesn’t think, she grabs Sera’s arm, and swipes her feet away, plummeting her into the dark waters beside her. 

She can hear the undead approaching, the groans and moans in the dark.   
  
“On it,” Sera grins and draws her bow. “I bet I can get more than you." 

When Cassandra and Solas makes it from the camp, they find two very wet, madly grinning archers, and a lake littered with twice-dead bodies.  


	5. Laugther

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-romance winter fluff. 
> 
> Originally published 12/16/2017

Iwyn likes the quiet here, down by the frozen lake. The late afternoon sun makes everything orange and dreamy. Her breath turns cloudy in the air, and the cold bites her cheeks, but she doesn’t mind. Sitting on the rickety dock reminds her of home, in way, even if the sound of waves is replaced with the faint hammering from the forge and shouts from the training field. 

There is a white hare on the ice, slowly making its way to find food. One ear is up, and one is flopped over, and a bit torn from a fight. It freezes, and sits on it hind legs, moving its nose. When Iwyn hears light footsteps crunching the snow, it bolts away. She turns to see Solas walking behind her.

“Solas,” she calls, and gets up to meet him. She enjoys his company and his stories.

“I am sorry, Herald, I did not mean to disturb you.”

“You only disturbed the wildlife, Solas.” She smiled, and gestures to the lake behind her.

“Ah. I see. Hopefully no bears?”

“Just a hare. I was enjoying a bit of nature after Val Royeaux. The city was interesting, if I disregard the part where I was called a murderer.” It had been both strange and unsettling, the city much larger than Wycome. “I would like to be back and explore. I must admit I have never been in a city so big.”

“Val Royeaux is nothing compared to vast cities I have seen in the fade.” Solas gestures broadly, and when Iwyn asks, he tells of cities so large you could not walk through them on foot in a single day, markets where you could buy anything you could desire. She loves the details he tells; how eager he is to share what he has learned. 

They talk a while, and she rubs her hands together in the cold, the sun almost setting behind the Chantry. Solas pauses his tale. 

“Are you cold?”

“Just a little, I did not bring my gloves. I am not sure how your toes are not frozen solid!” She looks at his bare feet in the snow, and her own sturdy boots. 

He laughs a little, and she wonders how it would sound if he laughed deep and long.

“I know a spell,” he says. “Can I show you?” 

She nods and he reaches for her hands, his fingers warm against her own. The green light of the anchor pulses in her hand, but he is not examining it right now. Instead he pushes her palms together, and then envelops then his own, large, hands. She feels a brush of magic, and then a tingling warmth.

“Thank you,” she says, smiling widely. “That is very useful.”

“Anytime.” Solas catches her eyes, his own unreadable for a moment. Then he lets go of her hands. They are warm now, but she wishes his hands was still around hers, an extra layer of warmth and magic. 

She will find out how he sounds when he laughs deeply, and she will hold his hands again.

 


	6. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-relationship drabble, watching a meteor shower

There had been reports of bandits in the Hinterlands, out west, in the foothills. Now that the Inquisition was more established, the so-called Herald of Andraste had decided to take care of it, personally. Solas admitted that he was impressed with her diligence. Many in her situation might have done the least amount possible, not bothered by a few bandits roaming the countryside.

They are camped at the foot of a small hill, the Herald and Cassandra deciding it was better to wait until the morning to hunt thieves. Dorian was complaining about sleeping out in the open, the man probably used to plush beds. Solas has no problem sleeping in a makeshift camp, he can enter the fade anywhere he wishes. The place is sheltered from the wind, the campfire low and hidden. Ten or so Inquisition scouts have accompanied them, and Cassandra joins their quiet conversation. They trust her, and he is glad she is here. They probably would not appreciate travelling alone with a Dalish elf and two mages.

The light is too low now, so he closes his book. He frowns. He can’t see the Herald, Lavellan, anywhere. She is a very proficient hunter, so he is not surprised she can move out of camp without notice, but he still doesn’t like the idea. There are bears out there. Her skills are impressive, as he has witnessed, vicious and precise in battle. She can probably take care of a bear. He smiles and thinks of her intense gaze before she lets an arrow fly, strong and true. There could be more than one bear, and he thinks of no longer seeing that half smile in wake of perfect shot, and it is not a pleasant thought. No, he needs the anchor, that is why he gets up looking for her.

She has not left camp, it turns out. She is talking with one of the scouts at the edge of the camp, a big man with a brown beard. He smiles with white teeth, and she smiles back. He should return to his bedroll, but Lavellan spots him.

“Solas, I was just going to find you.”

“Oh, did you have question you needed answered?”

She briefly nods to the scout, and gestures for him to walk with her.

“Not really, “ she says, and offers him a smile. “I just wanted a bit of company.”

“You have it. Lethallan.” He has started to enjoy her company as well, surprised by her interest in subjects unrelated to her simple life as hunter.

“Good. Now come,“ and she ducks out of camp, at the midpoint between the two scouts keeping watch.  He follows, he sees no reason not to.  She leads them up the hill, surefooted in the darkness. She stops when they reach the top, the forested hillside opening up into a small clearing.

Iwyn looks up, to the sky, where they now can see all the stars clearly.

“I felt like watching the stars a bit. It is harder by the fire.” She smiles and sits, then stretches out in the grass, and Solas gladly joins her. They lie there in comfortable silence for a while, the breath of the world washing over them.

“Look!” Iwyn says, and points up. A bright streak of white flashes across the sky. Then another.

“It must be a meteor shower,” he offers.

“It is beautiful.”

Her hand falls down, and it lands on top of his. It lingers there, just a moment, before it slides to the ground besides his own.

It feels like his hand was scorched by a fallen star.


	7. The Ambassador

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before the kiss in the fade. Solas is jealous, Dorian is buddy.

Solas makes his way up to the library, he is sure the information he is looking for is in a book already in Skyhold. Once there, he gets drawn into a conversation with Dorian, though he is still searching for the book.

“It may be possible, theoretically. But why would anyone waste time doing that?”

“I assure you, Dorian, it is more than possible. And there are many reasons to fold the veil like that.”

Where is that book? It is from Antiva, he thinks, and it had a description of some human Dreamers. He would like to investigate it further. Ahh, maybe this one!

“I am sure it is useful, but so inefficient. It is much simpler to stretch, to achieve a very similar effect!”

He turns his attention back to Dorian, while flipping through the book. The discussion go on for a while, and Dorian has some surprising insights. He did not expect that, and it feels nice to talk about this. It is quite interesting, how mages are working the veil.

“Oh, Josie, that is a wonderful story!” He hears the Inquisitor’s laughter, as she and the Ambassador descends the stairs. His gaze wanders to them, and Josephine is laughing too. She has a slight blush on her cheeks. They walk by them, and he notices Iwyn’s arm is resting on Josephine’s. Their chatter is idle, and friendly and full of laughter. The women don’t notice Dorian and him in the alcove.

“… don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry?” He appears to have missed part of the conversation.

Dorian gets a gleam in his eyes. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Dorian!” He does wish, at times, that he could make the Inquisitor laugh like that, but to suggest that he is... well it might not be unwarranted, but it certainly is not something he wishes to discuss.  

“Of course you do, my dear Solas. You know exactly which beautiful elven girl I am talking about.”

“The Inquisitor is free to spend time with whomever she likes.” Josephine is very nice and friendly. She has an ease and happiness about her. Something he can never have, forever closed to him.

“Well, and right now she seems to enjoy the company of our lovely Ambassador. You do know it doesn’t have to be like that, my friend.”

Solas narrows his eyes. He is not sure what Dorian is on about.

“She looks at you a lot, you know. When she thinks you no one notices. Then I see her all the time down there by your desk. ‘oooh, tell me about the fade’.”

“The Inquisitor has a curious mind. I am not sure what you think is going on.”

“What I think is that she only has eyes for you. Yes, she enjoys spending time flirting with our dear Josie, but she could only have eyes for you, if you let her.“ Dorian draws out a sigh. “You should, Solas. That is all I am saying. It might be good for you.”

“You know nothing about what is good for me!” He snaps the book shut, and stalks off.

 

He cannot be so foolish as to act on his attraction to her, and hers to him. It would be fruitless and cruel. There are a thousand reasons for him to bury this, along with so much else.


	8. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan and companions go bathing. Solas is frustrated.

It is hot and humid in the Emerald Graves. The Freemen are dealt with, but bandits crop up everywhere, as do the reminders of the Fall of the Dales. The heat and the history together leads to an oppressive atmosphere, and by the time they set camp, Dorian and the Iron Bull are keeping their distance to both Solas and the Inquisitor. Iwyn Lavellan is stripping off her bracers and shin guards with a grim efficiency.

“How does one deal with this humidity?” Dorian asks rhetorically. Breaking the tension.  "I shall make my way to the stream and take a bath.“  
  
Iwyn laughs then, “Can’t have you smelly, Dorian. I think I need a bath too.”  
  
“A cool forest stream sounds great, boss” The Iron Bull chimes in. “Solas, are you going to join?” Iwyn and Dorian are already walking down the path.

“Maybe later,” Solas says. He wants to take a quick look at some of the shards they found, and in the end the heat is not too bothersome to him. 

However, after failing to see any different between these and those from the Hinterlands, he notices that the Inquisition scouts are still hanging out in camp. He thinks that the 3 others were probably bathing all of them, and forgetting the dangers here. The freemen are scatted, not vanquished, and who knows what other bandits are out there.

The scouts look tired and are all playing Wicked Grace in the shade. He could check on the others on his own. He rises and starts down the path. Not that it would be a good idea to bathe with Inquisitor… he should never had kissed her, even in the fade. Now his thoughts keep returning to her soft lips, her beautiful curves. Would they be as soft in the waking world? It was one thing to respect her mind, her spirit, so unexpected. But to desire her… his thoughts are interrupted by a large splash from the stream ahead. He speeds up, in case of trouble.

As he rounds the corner, he can hear the Iron Bull. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to touch your butt!”

He sees Dorian turn and look at Bull, unapologetic and naked. "You’re not sorry in the least, I believe.”

At this Iron Bull laughs, as does the Inquisitor. Solas head turns towards the sound, she is standing a little away from the men. She is facing away from him, the water lapping at the middle of her thighs. He stops in his path. Then Iwyn flips her hair over her head, and bends over to wash it. 

Solas feels his mouth go dry when the bend of her body shows her ass prominently. He thinks how soft the skin must be, how it would feel to run his hands over it, to… He has to stop his thoughts, far too many reasons he should not let his mind wander. No matter how long time since he has felt another body, another’s flesh next to him. Or maybe exactly because of how long, he reminds himself.

Out of the corner of his eyes he sees Dorian and Iron Bull in a close embrace, and a pang of envy stings his chest. All the more reason to turn back.

“I better leave you two alone,” he then hears the Inquisitor say. Before he can retreat, she is turning and walking towards the shore. She smiles when she sees him. “Solas, have you decided to take a bath then? You might want to move a little downstream, you know…”

“No… Ahem… I’m fine. I was merely concerned… ” She walks closer, the Dalish aren’t shy about nakedness in general. At least that is what he assumes. “About bandits… since all here is fine, I shall just be going.” He forcibly removes his gaze from her.  Looks back, at her face. Her wet hair clings to head, and water trickles down the hollow of her throat.

The heat is suddenly bothering him, and he wish he could take a bath. But there is no getting naked now, here. Not like this.   

Iwyn smiles gently and grabs her clothing. Looks right at him, through him. “See you at camp Solas.”

Solas flees.


	9. Lavellan walks in on Solas changing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre realtionship Thedas.

It had been a long trip to the Emerald Graves. At least they had dealt with the Freemen and smashed some red Lyrium to bits and pieces. She was just about done with one more story of the Chantry eradicating the heretic elves though. She wanted to forget about those statues, inscriptions.  
  
She was dirty and sweaty from the trip and climbing everywhere to get those shards. Speaking of which, she better drop those off with Solas before crashing in bed. 

She made her way to the rotunda, but he wasn’t at his desk. 

“Dorian!” she yelled. “Where did Solas go?”

Dorian, who had not accompanied them to the Graves, stuck his head over the railing. “The elf, who you most definitely is not interested in, went to has chambers. I am not sure what for, it is not as his clothes looked any more shabby than usual.”

She thought he might have gone there to pick up a book or two, they did uncover a lot of ruins. She thought of all the statues, the emerald knights. She better not, or her mood would drop.   
  
Up and around the corridors, she came to the door of the small room Solas slept in. The door was ajar, so she pushed it open. 

She was met with something she was not prepared for. Solas was changing out of his clothes. His back was turned to her, naked. Her gaze slid over the freckles on his shoulders, the flexing of his back muscles. 

Solas was pulling off his breeches, and he had one leg free, Her eyes were drawn to his naked buttocks - clearly, he preferred to forego smallclothes. 

“Umm - sorry!” She turned red and quickly backed out of the room. She wished she could stay and feast her eyes, but not when not invited. Her reaction was embarrassing to say the least. 

Before she could flee down the corridor, Solas stepped out the door. Thanks Creators he had his pants on. She could see why he wanted out of them, dirty and and torn at the knee. 

“No, I am sorry,” he said. I should have locked the door. 

“I just had these for you. The shards”. Why was she stammering like a youngster not yet worthy of vallaslin? Well his chest… and other parts were certainly distracting. 

“Ah.. yes, thank you,” Solas said. He didn’t look her in the eyes either. 

This was getting unbearable. She was a woman grown. She desired him, and while she did not want to intrude on his barriers, she should not be ashamed. 

“Solas”, she said and stepped closer to him. “Have you thought about… I understand you need time… “she smiled and looked him in the eyes. “I keep thinking of you. I didn’t mean to walk in on you, but… I’m glad I got more things to think about now.”

She shoved the shards into his hands and briskly walked away (she did not run. She did not slink.)  
  
Solas stood there, blinking. A slow smile spread on his face as he watched the Inquisitor retreat. 


	10. Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas picks Lavellan some flowers. Post Haven.

He really shouldn’t. After the kiss in the fade, he should have stopped. Remembered his - and hers - duty. It can only lead to heartbreak. 

But he can’t help to be drawn to her. Her spirit. Her curiosity. Her leadership and perseverance. 

He sees her, at the battlements. Staring into the valley at the troops. Up at the sun.   
Hiding in an empty tower when she thinks no one is watching. When she descends the stairs, her eyes are red. But she doesn’t let it show. She _leads_. Goes to the war table. Listens carefully to her advisers. And makes a choice. He can feel her loneliness, though. Leading is hard. He hasn’t forgotten that.   
  
So, when he goes on a trip to the Hinterlands with Dorian and Vivienne and Cassandra to look at an interesting rift, he can’t help it when he sees the poppies. They are pretty and fragile, and cannot be mistaken for a useful gift. Vivienne rolls her eyes. Dorian claps his back. Cassandra hides her smile.   
  
He finds her on the slanted roof overlooking the garden.   
  
“You’re hiding, Inquisitor.”

She smiles when she sees him. “Yes. I admit I am. It is a bit overwhelming. Should I try my hand at The Game in Orlais? I need to go meet Hawke’s friend and figure out what the Wardens are doing. I’m just… a little out of my depth here.” She ducks her head, like a shy girl she isn’t. He saw her battling Corypheus at Haven.   
  
He sits down beside her. It has been… a while ( _eons,_ really) since he has given a girl flowers. “I… thought you might like these. To calm your mind”. He draws the flowers from behind his back and put them in her lap. Looks away a bit. He can feel his cheeks burning. He feels like he is young again, without a place in the world. Did he ever bring flowers for anyone? His mother? He pushes the thought away. 

Iwyn looks up at him with a beaming smile. “These are beautiful. Thank you.” Unsure of how to react, she looks down at them. Presses them to her chest. “I should put these in water.” She smiles at him. “But of now, can we just sit here bit?” 

She carefully, giving him time to move, leans her head against him.   
  
He relents. Put his now free arm around her.   
  
Just for a little bit he doesn’t think of tomorrow, or the day after. Neither does she.   
  
Just a man, bringing flowers for his love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of the first prompts I tried filling, but I still like parts of it. :)


	11. Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Lavellan in a tent in the Hissing Wastes. First non-fade kiss

They have been looking all over for the Venatori. Scout Harding’s map helps, but there is still something missing. Some information they still need to find. 

In the end, they make camp in the sand, next to a logging camp. The sand is everywhere, in everything. Between his toes, under his leg wraps. Like time, it wears, and it wears and grinds away. No escape. 

“I think there is sand in this stew.” Cassandra complains. 

“Grunting at it in disgust doesn’t make it better. Sadly.” Dorian looks like he is unsure if he should continue eating. 

“I’m sorry, guys. But we have to find out what those Venatori are up to. Hopefully we can be done tomorrow. At least this isn’t nug.” Iwyn - the Inquisitor -  looks brightly at all of them.  Making the best of the situation. The moonlight makes her skin luminous, brighter than her words.

He says nothing, but he appreciates her optimism. Her youth, he reminds himself. 

Later, he is in the tent. He wanted to read in a tome they found, and both Dorian and Cassandra wanted to sleep early.  The light of his candle flickers, but at least it is better than the wind outside. 

“Can I come read in here? I need to look at these Venatori letters. We are out of candles.” She has been pacing the camp, making sure she felt she knew the terrain - she always does this. 

“Of course, lethallan,” he says. He doesn’t know what to call her. He knows what he wants to say. It is there, on the tip of his tongue. He still thinks of the kiss they shared in the fade. Foolish. He is an old fool, to think he can still go on like before. 

She lifts an eyebrow at him and smiles. She knows. Gives him time. She isn’t young, really, he reminds himself. Wisdom builds fast in these mortal children. 

There isn’t much light, she sits right next to him. She could have sat across from him, but of course she doesn’t. He can feel the heat of her thigh next to his. She is focused on the papers, but he has lost track of the text in front of him. 

“You have been staring at the same page for a while, Solas,” she says after some time. She has gone through most of the letters. “Something the matter?” She smiles, so very close to him. 

“I... ah, I think I must be tired. Maybe it is time for sleep.” He closes the book, but he doesn’t move from her heat. 

“It is ok, Solas. I know you’re… things are probably different when they are real. But I like you Solas, and I’m here.” She looks down, then up, lifts her hand. She gently touches his jaw. So real. Her hands draw back, and she puts the papers away. 

“Thank you,” he finally says when she looks back. His gaze holds her now. He mimics her gesture, lightly draws his hand over her cheek. Then he leans closer, and before he can change his mind he kisses her. 

Sweet and soft. Something grows in his chest, and he draws her closer. Her arms are around him now. 

This is real, like the candle and papers and the Inquisition crest branded in Cassandra’s armor. All of this is so real, but she is in particular. Her courage is marked in how she kisses, and some things will always stay the same, no matter how many thousands of times the sun rises. The slide of lips, the mingling of breaths. 

He presses against her one more time, and then leans back. 

“So, you have done your thinking?” she asks with a smile. He opens his mouth to speak. “Let’s go to sleep, Solas. I can take it as slow as you need.” She interrupts before he can say anything he regrets. She is somehow, impossibly, in tune with his struggle. 

 


	12. Lifeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas overhears Iwyn

He recognizes the voices below him, but first he cannot make out the words. Cassandra and the Inquisitor is talking in the courtyard below where he is walking, on the battlements. He had needed to clear his head.

Hearing Iwyn’s – the Inquisitor’s voice wasn’t helping his headache. She was the source of it. No. That wasn’t fair at all. He only had himself to blame. As he draws closer their voices become clear.

“Cassandra, I am sure Varric will be flattered.” Iwyn says, her voice carrying a note of amusement. That he can discern her mood from the tone of her voice is concerning.

“I am not sure I want him flattered. His ego is big enough already,“ Cassandra says. “How are you holding up otherwise, Inquisitor?”

“I am… good. Everyone is becoming friends. It makes everything more normal.”

“Some more friendly than, others, I think.”

“What do you mean Cassandra?”

He can hear them move, a little restless. He keeps moving, he did mean to clear his head, not spy on their conversation.

“You do seem to be spending a lot of time with the apostate.” Solas freezes in his tracks. He should get away. “It is nice to have another elf around?” That would be it, yes. He exhales, letting go of a breath he did not know he was holding.

“It is.” Iwyn replies. “But, Cassandra. It might be more. You know, like in your books. I think I’m in love.”

No. Solas doesn’t hear Cassandra’s reply. He hurries away now. Why did he linger? It cannot be the truth. He thinks of her kiss, the flirting. It was an infatuation, nothing else. He had convinced himself of this. She wasn’t serious.

He forces himself to walk slower, realizing he is almost running when a guard sends him an odd look. He knew he should have ended it right there, when she asked about their meeting in the fade. He had not. The feeling of her, it made him long for things he is not allowed to have. He had wondered, how would it feel outside of a dream.  To hold her. To kiss her. Then he had, and it was not enough. How could it be?

Solas reached the point where the battlements end in ruins. He stops and there is nowhere to go, no escape. The truth is he had let it happen. He had not expected her to be so openminded, so curious. So fit to lead, so apt at controlling the anchor. To be so enjoyable to spend time with.

He sinks down and sit, leaning against the stone. His eyes close, and the sun burns his eye lids.

He should tell her it can go no further, it complicates too many things. Except… Except he doesn’t want to rip the joy he heard in her voice away. He doesn’t want to stop the smiles, the touches. It is such a brief time, and he yearns and he no longer knows what he wants and what he must.

 

She finds him, much later, when the sun has disappeared beneath the jagged horizon.

“Come.” It is all she says, and when she extends her hand to him, he grasps it.


	13. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan is looking for Solas, or anything really to take a break.

She can’t, for once, find him in the rotunda. His brushes are sitting at the base of the wall, neatly cleaned but still wet. He must have left just a little while ago. She considers if she should seek him out still. She has a book for him, but she can leave it on his desk.

She looks at the murals, they are unlike anything she has seen before. Where did he learn this? There is so much she doesn’t know about him, and their relationship feel so new, so tenuous. It is quite unlike anything she has had before, in what feels like another life. Now she is the Inquisitors, and duty calls. She really should just drop off this book.

Instead, she finds herself tucking it under her arm, and setting off. Her first stop is the courtyard, but he is nowhere to be found.  Cole is sitting on a low wall, and when she asks him where Solas might be, all he says is “sometimes it helps to remember that things still grow”.

She doesn’t really understand what Cole says most of the time, but before she knows it she has made her way to the garden.

Solas is sitting on a bench in a quiet part, away from the chatting Chantry sisters. He is drawing in a small book, but looks up when she walks nearby. He gives her a smile that is quite nice. More than nice, really.

“Hello,” he says, "how are you today?”

“Good, thank you.” She makes a decision and sits next to him, she could use a break in any case. She did tell Josephine as much when she approached her with some requests after the meeting. “I found this book you sought. Here.”

“Ah, thank you. This will be very useful.”

She waits a minute. “I am sorry Solas, am I disturbing you?”

“Not at all.” He looks like he will say something else, but instead he smiles again.

“Where you drawing?” she asks and leans close, she is curious about what he is sketching.

“Just a few plants in the garden.” He shows her, and now they lean close, touching. She likes touching him, it feels like fire in her blood.

“Where did you learn to draw? Don’t tell me it was in the fade.”

“Ah. Well. Drawing itself I started when I was very young. My father used to draw, and I watching him. If you are asking about the murals, I did see those created in the fade. It is a very old technique.”

“You could learn how to do plaster and paint in the fade?” She shakes her head. “It is so strange to me. I could never imagine what the fade could show. Can you show me, some day? Murals, I mean.” His nearness makes her feel bold, and happy, so she leans close, and lets her lips touch his ear. “Or something else…”

Solas blushes slightly, but turns towards her, his lips hovering close to her.

“Inquisitor?” She whips her head around, she didn’t hear the footsteps. Some kind of hunter she is.

Cullen looks sheepish, just realizing how close she and Solas are sitting. “I’m sorry… I thought you might wanted…” He draws his hand across the back of his neck, then looks down at the chessboard he is holding. “I heard what you said to Josephine, so I thought I could offer a game of chess.”

“Oh, that was kind of you,” she says. She should probably say something else, but Iwyn is pretty sure her ears are pink.

Cullen looks from her to Solas, and back. “Do you want me to leave? I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“It is fine, Commander.” Solas closes his notebook and stands up. “I was just leaving. The Inquisitor was so kind to bring me a book I was looking for. I should take it back to my desk.” He inclines his head. “Inquisitor. Commander.”

Iwyn watches him retreat. This was not really what she wanted, but she can’t figure out what Solas wants. She is happy for all the people here, being friendly in this odd position she is in, so this is not all bad. 

She turns to Cullen. “Chess sounds great. I am sure Josephine’s letters can wait a little longer.”

 


	14. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwyn and Solas, the morning after the balcony scene

He wakes up in an unfamiliar bed. The fade falls away, he can barely remember where he travelled in his dreams. Unusual. Above him, rich fabrics float in the canopy. For a moment, he thinks he is still in the fade, thousands of years back.   
  
Then he is pulled back to reality by the coarse posts, no magic holding up gauzy fabric. The body next to him is real, too.   
  
He looks at her. She has kicked the covers off her legs during the night, only her torso is covered. He smiles, and moves his hand to caress her face. Stops, hovering over her form.   
  
His hand withdraws and he sighs. What has he done? He didn’t mean to love her. To desire her, like a man. But he did, and he acted. They laid together and they moved together, and he doesn’t know if he should rejoice or regret.   
  
It claws inside him. Love. Duty. Mistakes. Redemption.   
  
She stirs, and he is forced to push back his grim thoughts. She stretches and smiles. Opens her eyes and look up at him.   
  
“Good morning, Solas.”  
  
“Good morning, _vhenan_.” He looks at her, allows himself to tuck a bit of her hair behind her ear. He can’t help but smile. He hopes it isn’t brittle. 

“I like not waking up alone.” She runs her hand down his neck, over his shoulder. He shudders at the contact. Almost too much, he feels raw. He looks away, suddenly panics grips him. He should end it now, leave, get up, hurt her now, before he hurts her more. 

“Those things you said yesterday… Did you mean them?” she asks then. 

He can feel the warmth of her, next to him, and he likes it. Too late, it is too late. Maybe, just maybe he can be Solas for a little while. He isn’t sure it is fair to her, but it has been so long since his heart has felt anything other than anger and regret. 

“I meant every word, _ma’lath_. Do not ever doubt that.”  
  
They stay in bed a little longer. 


	15. Maelstrom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew slew a dragon. Lavellan is drunk, Solas is poetic.

Solas is not one to join them in Herald’s Rest. He prefers the solitude of his desk in the rotunda, researching and studying. Or quietly reading in the Inquisitors room, while she answers letters and other duties.   
Tonight is different. 

They slew the Abyssal High Dragon earlier. The Inquisitor and Iron Bull and Sera and him. Blood and sand and ruin.   
  
So, he goes with them. The Iron Bull is telling the tale, once again. 

“…and then she yelled ‘barrier’ and she grabbed the arrow and _plunged it in his right eye!”_ Iron Bull stabs the table with his mug for emphasis. 

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” Iwyn insists. She smiles, though, and takes another drink. Her smile is like the sun on a cloudy day. 

Solas watches her. Has been since they got back.  She is victorious, glowing.  

“Lots of arrows. And little bees - no one likes bees, not even big dragons.” Sera laughs, drinks. Slides down her chair.  

Iron Bull attempts to hoist her up again. “Bees are good Sera. What a fight!” He gestures for another round.

Iwyn smiles at him. “Thank you for your barriers - and those stone things! Smack in the face!” She giggles, and beams at him. She looks so young, but also so strong, so fierce, so perfect. He wants to kiss her. He wants to worship her, right there, on the table in the inn. 

“Anything for you, _vhenan_ ,” he says. He takes a drink too.

“So,“ the Inquisitor goes on, “did you see that dragon on the Storm Coast that flew off?” 

Iron Bull grunts. Drinks. “We need a boat. I think it went to that island out there.”

Iwyn looks pensive. The beams. “We will find one!” Her joy, her power it is an overflowing cup. 

“Will you slay all the dragons in Thedas?” he asks. 

“Maybe,“ she says. “They are a menace, right? People should be safe.”

He loves her. Like a raft in a maelstrom, he is powerless to resist her pull. He will be sucked under, drowned, destroyed. 

He leans to her, slides his hand along her jaw.  “ _Vhenan_ \- you are…” he slides his other hand around her back. Slants his mouth over her soft lips. She opens her mouth. Leans into him. Soft, warm, wet. Hard, demanding, rough. The dragon did not have a chance.   
  
“Get out, Elven smooches! Ewww!” Sera flicks some beer at them. 

He breaks the kiss. “As you wish, Sera. Good night.” He scoops her up in his arms, nods at The Iron Bull. Carries his love out of there. She giggles, and he bends to kiss her once more.  

 


	16. Sunlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting dressed in the morning
> 
> NSFW themes

He wakes before her. It is not usual. The fade is close here, at Tarasyl'an Te'las, and he finds it easy to stay in his dreams. But not today. Something is scratching in his mind; he doesn’t know what it is.

His body feels warm and content next to her. He pushes away his unease, his mind. He can feel. Her skin. The sheets. The sun coming through the windows. His hands wander over her body, and she sighs and turns.

She is so real, so perfect. He closes his eyes and just feels, smells. He smiles into her skin. She stirs and he loses himself in her. Completely, body, moment, he is hers. He gives her all he can.

Then they get up, and they dress, getting ready. She smiles and stands in the sun.

They are leaving for the Temple of Dirthamen today. Maybe that is why his mind is uneasy. Those places are not easy for him. The past, the failures, all of them tumbling on top of him.

His mind is spinning again. She turns, dressed and reaches and kiss him, and he knows it cannot last. It cannot be. He hugs her, closer.

For now, just a few more moments, he will still his mind, live in the sunlight, selfishly.


	17. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip to the fade and the aftermath

This area of the fade looks quiet, but Iwyn doesn’t feel safe. The giant ocean unsettles her, she doesn’t know what hides in it. She looks over her shoulder once again. She hopes there will be no monsters crawling out of the sea, but it wouldn’t surprise her. Hawke had complained about spiders, but she wished they had just been spiders. No, to her they had looked like grotesque beings, corrupted hallas and disfigured eagles, maws stretching impossibly large, thousand teeth and too many eyes gleaming at her.

“Let us rest here for a moment,“ Cassandra says, and points to a small area under an cliff overhang. Iwyn wonders what monsters Cass sees.

They make their way to the small enclosure behind the low stonewall.

Cass sits down, leans against a stone and closes her eyes. Vivienne sits cross-legged next to her, perfectly poised, and Solas hangs back, staring out over the endless sea. Hawke and Alister are discussing something in low voices.

She notices the scattered stones, how they are not just stones, but markers. Something is written on them _. Cole – despair_ , _Varric – becoming his parents_. Fears, she realizes. She should not look, but she can’t help her curiosity. She reads them all, and fiercely wants none of them to come to pass.

Then she sees it, written in stone. Her own name.

_Iwyn – failing to protect._

She stops. Her jaw clenches, biting down hard, she can hear her teeth grind. In a brief, terrible moment she imagines it. Corypheus successful. Her friends dead. Her family. Solas. The children she saw playing in puddles in Redcliffe. Dead. But it is not just that she fears. What if they are successful, but it is not enough? There will still be losses. People, her people, will still die.

She shakes her head, breathes out through her nose. She won’t let that happen. She can’t. Whatever it takes.

 

Sometimes after, when everything is settled and they are safely back in Skyhold, Iwyn escapes to her rooms. She flings the balcony doors open and sits herself against the railing, in the corner. She rests her head on her knees. She doesn’t cry. She thinks of Hawke, and her determined fierceness _. I’ll fuck that demon up_ , she had said, and rushed in.

She thinks of the tombstones. She wants to make it all untrue, to unravel the fears down to navel of the world. She has already failed of course, her efforts futile, etched in Varric’s face. _Where is Hawke?_

It eats her, teeth in gut like the monsters in the fade.

 

 

The door opens, and she stands. There aren’t many people who would walk in without knocking, but Solas is one of them, when it suits him.

“A word, please?” he asks.

“Always, Solas.” She smiles wearily. She knows why he is here.

“I must implore you to reconsider, Inquisitor!” He is pacing, frowning.

She crosses her arms and waits.

“Iwyn. You know what the Wardens did! They are unstable. How can you ask them to join? How can you be so rash, so...”

“Stop, Solas. Stop right now. I have made my decision. We need them. “

“We don’t! It is far too dangerous.”

“Unlike everything else we do?” She sighs. “Look. I know they are dangerous. We will keep an eye on them. But we need all the power we can get. I have to keep… I… I already failed Hawke, Solas. I can’t fail anyone else.”

“I see.”

He stands up straight, hands behind his back. She is not sure he does, really.

“Everyone in Thedas. They are all my responsibility. What would happen if I exiled the Wardens? What would they do, hidden away at Weisshaupt? Another bad decision, and more people I should protect will die. Better for the Wardens to be here, where we can keep an eye on them. And I need them. I… The Inquisition needs more power.”

Solas starts to speak, then he pauses, exhales. He looks out over the mountain, and she waits for him to collect his thoughts.

“Maybe you are right. I hope you are.” He is standing apart from her, tense still. “But you cannot protect everyone.”

“I can try.” She thinks of the fade, and the tombstones, and _dying alone_ , and she closes the distance between them.

“I know, _vhenan_ ,” he says, and then are they embracing and he kisses her hair.

Together, they watch the sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Ambush

They walk right into the red templar ambush. Covered with dust and sand and blood, they are too tired to pay attention. 

Varric drops some caltrops and leaps away, Iwyn ducks behind a boulder to take aim for a deadly shot. Cassandra shouts and jumps to action, but she is just a little slower than usual. Solas covers her with a barrier, and he doesn’t notice the templar behind him. A loud noise, like a bell under water, and he is on his knees, his mana buried. 

“Andraste’s flaming tits!” Varric franticly puts down cover fire for Cassandra, who is pressed back by giant behemoth, each swing of its arms making her shield ring. 

Iwyn sees Solas in the sand, paralyzed, the templar leaning over, two more closing in behind him. Their faces are contorted with violence. She puts an arrow in the throat of one before his mace strikes Solas, then another two into the knee and the chest of another. He falls groaning, and she fires again, keeping him down. Dust swirls, blurring, her breath hard. 

She feels her heartbeat like a drum, loud, insistent, the music of battle swells and dives and rises in her chest. She is out of arrows, and the last templar is close to Solas. He is still breathing hard, on his knees, and she knows his magic is still suppressed. She has seen him kill with his bare hands, with the blunt end of his staff, but they have been fighting all day. Cassandra and Varric are too far away, and still engaged with monster. 

The music, the drumming, the insistent buzz of battle is there. She leaps, somersaults, and she will protect him. Solas is hers, and hers alone. She lands right behind the templar, and she grasps his neck. It is as if time slows, and the sand stop moving. She twists and pulls and his neck breaks. No sound his hears, the music is stopped, and her ears pop as he falls to the ground. 

“Solas,” she says as she draws a breath. The only sound heard, Cassandra bend over where the behemoth has fallen, her shield arm limp. Bianca lowered in Varric’s hands. 

His eyes are dilated, surprised, like he has not still recovered. 

“I’ve got you,” she says, and reaches out, touching his cheek, her hand sliding down, around his neck. Solas falls into her, desperate, or maybe she draws him to her, inevitable. 

“I’ve got you, always,” she repeats, and Solas muscles tense briefly. His eyes turn unreadable, then impossible sad, then it’s gone, and maybe she just imagined it. 

“I know, vhenan, I know,” and he sounds desperate, drowning in the desert. 

She holds him to her, and no matter what trouble he carries, she will save him.


	19. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is raining in the desert. Fluff.
> 
> *NSFW*

 The rain was a surprise. The forbidden oasis was dry, hot and dusty at most times, but today it was raining. Iwyn was laughing and stretching her arms up in the air, her hair plastered to her face in the rain. She looked so carefree and young like this, and he almost couldn’t bear the happiness. It made him feel grim and old.

“Come!” Iwyn gestured and started to pull off her armor. “Let us bathe in the pool. Swimming in rain is great!”

Soon she was down to her smalls, and her happiness is contagious. Cassandra shrugs and takes off her armor. Dorian is already undressed, complaining about the rain ruining the velvet.

Somehow, he too is splashing in the oasis in the rain.

When they were done, the rain had stopped. The desert smelled fresh and different. They made their way back to the camp. The Inquisition scouts had a fire going, and it was welcome. Their skin cold from the water. Cassandra laughed at a joke Dorian told. Settled by the fire, he felt like every trouble faded away. Just friends, sharing a meal in the firelight. This war, and past wars, laid forgotten beneath the sand. He feels a warmth in his chest that has nothing to do with the fire.

Later, long after Dorian had convinced Cassandra to tell about her youthful adventures slaying dragons, he and Iwyn were sitting by the dying fire. The sparks shoot into the sky, fly to the million bright stars above. He can feel the bark of the piece of wood he sits on, he can feel her fingertips tracing his cheek.

“I love your freckles,“ she says, suddenly, breaking the silence. She turns her body, and then she is in his lap. Both her hands are on his shoulder, under his collar. He kisses her.

“Do you, now?” he asks. There is no past, no tomorrow here. Just sparks and the smell of rain.

“Yes. I want to see the ones underneath your clothes, though.”

“I see.” He slides his own hands underneath her clothes, pinches her nipples. She moans into his neck.

“Off” She tugs at his shirt. He obliges, and then he slides his hands under her ass. He gets up and lifts her with him. As he turns towards the tents, she shakes her head. “I want to see the stars.”

He is unable to deny her, this, or anything. In this moment, he does not care about veil, the strain of magic against a screen. He can only smell her, feel her, real. His cock pressing against her, hard. Her hands roaming over his back as he is carrying her, away from the fire and the camp.

Down by the pool, on the damp sand, they lay down together. Undressed, lips, hands, skin. He enters her, and her soft gaze holds him.

“ _Ar lath ma_ , Solas,“ she sighs. He hides his face in her neck. The feeling of love is overwhelming, and he doesn’t trust himself. A moment of love, a bright light, she doesn’t deserve less than his full attention.

The stars are bright; the night is damp and warm. “ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_.”

They move then, in the way as old as magic. She surrounds him, and it doesn’t take long for them both to reach the peak and fall, freely. He cries out her name, hoarse and low.

 

Later, as they make their way back to camp, he wonders if their sounds woke the others. Her hand in his, he can’t bring himself to care much.

Rain in the desert.

 

 

 

 

 


	20. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching to boats in Val Royeaux

Solas is paying for the sweets when he feels her presence behind him. He can’t hear her of course, but his magic feels her. Or maybe he has just become so attuned to her. He isn’t sure if this is a good or a bad thing.  
He nods at the baker, after she is done suspiciously counting the money he handed her. Turns around and finds Iwyn Lavellan casually leaning against the entrance to the bakery.

“Your meeting has concluded?”

“Yes,” she answers, frowning.

“Where there complications?” They step out into the street, and he notices. “You have blood on your chin.”

“Sorry!” She furiously rubs it off. “Well, the meeting was with an assassin. He just ‘wanted to talk’, he said. But I couldn’t just let him walk away.” She sighs.

“Are you unhurt? It seems a bit impulsive to attack, if it was unneeded.”

She narrows her eyes. “You weren’t there! And I wanted to tell them I am not playing around. They have a contract on Josephine. By a dead family, so apparently, it cannot be rescinded. I wanted them to reconsider.” She rubs the dried blood off her hand. “And I’m fine.”

He shakes his head. “Will that work?”

“I don’t know. Humans. Orlesians. It is all about their honor. I wish they were more practical.”

He thinks that the more things change, the more they stay the same. He has known feuds that went for hundreds of years. Here, walking in the fading sun, he wishes he could share his story, his past, with her. A seed in his heart whispers _maybe, one day_. He freezes it, before it can grow.

“I guess we will have to wait. I trust Lady Montilyet is safe, for now?”

“Josephine is fine. In the end, I will find some way to fix it.”

He had no doubt. Her dedication to her friends, as well as her resourcefulness had ceased to be surprising. She did look a little tired, and why would she not. Too much death, everywhere. He hopes he can offer a little distraction.

 

They have reached the docks, and they walk out on them. When he sees a suitable spot, he gestures for her to sit. Legs hanging over the water.

“Are you not curious what I have purchased?”

She laughs, a beautiful sound. “I assume it is sweets of some sort.”

He nods, and pulls the little cakes carefully from the box. Offers her one, she takes a pink raspberry one with delight. He picks an orange one, passion fruit he thinks. No, mango.

They sit a moment in silence. She leans her head on his shoulder, and the sunset paints the sky orange and makes the water glitter like a sea of jewels.

“Look at that ship,” she says. “It has sails almost like an aravel.” The sun has painted the sails red.

“It does.” He wonders if she misses her clan, but he does not ask. He brought her here to relax. Instead he points out a small one, simple with one sail. “Look, at the small one. Just a family out for the evening.”

“Must be nice, to be able to sail. If you live in a big city like this.” She is done with her cake and lets her hand wander over his thigh. He takes it, and her hand is dry and warm. It makes his bones ache.

“Have you ships in the fade? Can you walk on the water in dreams?” she asks, after a little while.

He chuckles. “You cannot walk on the water. It is a reflection of what water is here. I have seen boats, and big ships.” He tells her of a ship he saw outfitted and sailing for an expedition in the Amaranthine Ocean once. How the sailors had been nervous and excited, and seen the dolphins at bow as good fortune. She listens, and smiles.

The sun is almost below the horizon, and most ships have docked. There is a breeze in the dusk. She lifts her head and takes the last cake out of the box. Breaks it in two, and lifts one of the pieces to his mouth. He can’t resist letting his tongue slide along her fingers as he takes the offering.

Her mouth opens slightly, in surprise. Then she smiles and takes her own piece of cake, deliberately licking her own fingers.

“Delicious,” she murmurs, looking at him. He wants to hold her gaze, hold this moment, forever. A moment passes, and it is dark now, her eyes glittering in last light. She leans in, kisses him. They are alone out here now, so late. He keeps kissing her for a long time. 

 

 

 


	21. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas sneaks into Iwyn's room, needing her.   
> NSFW
> 
> Originally published 1/16/2018

The soft sound of the door wakes her. She tenses briefly, every nerve alert, but she doesn’t go for her dagger, and buries herself under the blankets. This is no assassin sent to end the Inquisitor, no Orlesian noble trying to out-Game Josephine. She recognizes his light footsteps, his bare feet soundless on her carpet. 

Solas.

Though she has told him he is always welcome, and told the guards before her chamber as much, it is not like him to arrive in the middle of the night. She waits, wondering what he will do. She feels her skin tingling, but now the anticipation is not for a fight. 

He sits on her bed, and then he pauses. He must be looking at her, not realizing she is awake. He doesn’t crawl under the blankets, he doesn’t reach for her. 

“Solas,” she says at last, “are you going to come into bed, or will you sit there all night?”

“I am sorry, I did not mean to disturb you. I only...  I can leave.”

She peers up at him now, his sharp profile outlined in the moonlight. She likes the drapes lifted, these days, so she can get up with the sun. 

“Stay. I have told you that you are always welcome here, and I mean it. Come here.” She reaches for him, pulls him down to her, under her blankets. He goes willingly. “You only what,  _ma lath_?” 

“I woke,” he begins, and he moves closer to her, into her embrace, clutching her, his head buried in the crook of her neck. 

“You woke. A strange thing for a dreamer.” He kisses her, soft lips, then a scrape of teeth.

“I could not sleep,” he says, like it is some great mystery. He pulls her closer to him, the rough wool of his tunic harsh against her skin. She tugs at the bottom of it, sliding it up his chest. 

“Off,” she says, and his arms tangle as she removes it. He must have thrown it on after waking, no belt or undershirt. When she is done, she skims her fingers over his chest, the green light of the anchor casting an eerie light on his skin.

He shivers and presses against her. 

“I cannot imagine something was troubling your dreams, Solas.” Yet he feels unhinged, desperate, like he had some grand nightmare chasing him. She pushes away the thought. Nightmares are far too real in the fade for her liking. 

“No, I...”  He moves his head back so he can look into her eyes, a burning intensity she can feel even in the dark. “I awoke with a great need for you. I could not sleep. I should not have should not have come, I did not mean to presume, I -” 

She cuts him off, kissing him, hard and then soft, her lips moving against him. 

“Don’t apologize for wanting me.” 

She runs her tongue over his lips, and he parts them, softly, easily. His hands roam down her, back, to the swell of her ass. He grasps and she groans. 

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he says, revenant, like she is some kind of absolution. 

“Solas, I’m here.” Her heart aches for him, even if she doesn’t know why he needs the reassurance of her being. It doesn’t matter. She is here for him. She slides her hand down his chest, his stomach, until it rests on his hardness. 

“I can help you with your great need. _”_ She squeezes his erection with a small smile on her face, but he is too far gone, too desperate to smirk at her joke, he pushes into her, his hand tightening on her ass, the other pushing under her shirt to palm her breast. 

“Please,” he groans, and she moves to push down his pants, to remove her own clothing as fast as possible. Then she takes him in hand and guides his cock inside her. His urgency has made her wet and ready, but she still feels a slight burn when he enters. She does not mind, and she thrusts herself onto him, moving with the passion that has overcome them both. 

He does not set a steady pace, but moves erratically, his hands everywhere, his lips kissing her, finding her mouth, her jaw, her neck. He will not last long, and she puts her own hand between them, two fingers on her clit. Solas thrusts faster, one hand on her hip, keeping her closer, deeper, wilder. He makes a sound almost like a growl, and she can feel him pulsing, coming inside of her. She rubs herself just so to follow him, contracting around him as he is still coming. 

He clings to her, panting.

“Iwyn,” he says, exhaling, his voice still shaking. 

“Solas,  _ma lath_.” She places her hand over his heart. “Thank you. Thank you for coming to me.” 

He looks confused, and she knows he was about to thank her, but she is pleased he trusts her enough to come here. To let her be there for him. He does not understand she always will be there, that he does not have to fear rejection. 

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he says, his eyes shining in the moonlight. 

She kisses him briefly, and quickly uses her discarded undershirt to wipe them clean. She has no intention of leaving her bed right now, and settles in closer to sleep. His arms are warm and solid around her, and the bed is big enough for both of them. 

“You know, you could sleep here, instead of sneaking past the guards in the middle of the night.”

He chuckles, and she enjoys the easiness that has washed over him. 

“I shall keep that in mind,  _vhenan_.”

 

 

 


	22. Magic Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is very hot, and Solas has cold hands. 
> 
> *NSFW*

The heat is getting to everyone. Cassandra is sweating in her heavy armor, frowning more than usual. Dorian has stopped complaining. The back of Solas’ robe is wet with sweat. Iwyn can feel the leather armor stick to her, everywhere, her hair plastered to her head. It shouldn’t be this hot in Crestwood, but it is. There is carcass of a Druffalo in the grass, and it stinks. Flies are buzzing, too loud. What a waste.

“Where is the camp again? Hopefully by the lake. I have grown used this Southern climate, and it is not supposed to be this warm.” Dorian complains anyway, the rich velvet of his armor looks so heavy in the sun.

“Scout Harding said it was just close by. We should be here soon.” She really hopes she is right.

 

* * *

 

They do make it to the camp, and everyone is warm and sweaty and irritable. Cassandra and Dorian both decided to go to the lake and look for shade.

Iwyn hopes to find some shade in the tent, and divests herself of her leathers. Peeling them off like a second skin.

“Fen’Harel take these boots!” She doesn’t swear much, but they are stuck, sticky against her calves.

“Let me, _vhenan_.” Solas has a frown on his face as he enters the tent. He sits down next to her, and carefully pulls off her boots. Smiles at her.

“Thank you” Iwyn sighs in relief, and then Solas runs his hands over her calf.

“Oh! What!” His hands are cold, and it feels amazing.

“Magic.” He smirks at her. 

“Keep going.” He legs feel refreshed, his hands moving to the other. Then they move up her breeches, and up her body. He leans over her, on his knees, his gaze holding her. His eyes are blue, and she can’t look away as his slowly peels the armor off her upper body.

“Like this?” He runs his hands over her undershirt, cooling the fabric.

 “Or maybe like this?”

Hands skimming under her shirt, the icy cold tips of his fingers draw circles on her stomach. The touch makes her forget the frustration of the day, the heat, the flies, the non-existent bandits. His hands keep moving up, pushing her shirt away. Gentle brushes against the underside of her breast.

“Yes.” With a decisive motion, she pulls off her shirt. “This too. It’s wet.” She pulls on his sweaty shirt, and Solas laughs at this. He helps her remove it, and then she presses herself close to him, her mouth seeking his. He opens his mouth for her, and she doesn’t mind the heat there. His fingers are still cold against her back.

They break apart, their foreheads touch. They are still for a moment. Solas exhales slowly, like he wants to stall, freeze the time along with his hands. She lets him have it, runs her own hands down his back.

Then she is hot, the shade of the tent is no true relief, and she leans back, arching away from him. His eyes snap back to the present, and he runs his hands over her breasts. He lets a fingertip hover over each of her nipple, and she can feel the cold air around them as they tense. Her breathing comes faster, and finally he touch her, first gently, then pinching, rolling. The cold sting in the hot air makes her moan and she moves, pushing her breasts up against him.

He teases her, and then his hands go lower, pulls at her pants. She lifts her hips, lets him undress her completely.  His hands go to her hips, down her thighs. She shudders with the cold and it feels so good. Solas pushes her legs apart and moves to sit between them. Places one hand on her sex, waiting.

“Solas…” She is slick with need and wants him to touch her, to move. He does. His fingers are slipping into her folds, and the cold touch make her trash and forget where they are. He gently presses on her clit, then lets go, alternating pressure and temperature. His other hand is still on her breast, teasing, tweaking.

Iwyn’s hips lift off the floor, and her hands are reaching for Solas. Caressing his chest, his cheek, his ear. He groans at this, and then he slips a finger, so _cold_ , inside her. Another. She spreads her legs wider, and he lowers his head, his tongue on her clit.

“More.” She needs it, demands it. Solas complies, pushing a third finger inside her cunt, she feels it, all of them stretching her. Just rough enough. Then he stops teasing her clit, and he sucks. Cold fingers, filling her, and his hot mouth and then she is screaming, releasing, falling and crashing.

Iwyn comes down slowly, goes still. Solas looks up at her, hands on her hips now. Keep her from flying away. She pulls at his ear until he comes all the way on top of her. She kisses him, tastes herself on his lips.

“You will be hot again, _vhenan_ , if you keep me so close.” A low whisper in her ear.

“I don’t care.” Iwyn mover her hands to his ass, pressing into him. “What about you? You should take these pants off.”

“Later. I think I hear the others now.”

She listens and she does, low voices. Wonders how long they have been there, and she can feel heat in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the summer heat. 

“Do you think they heard us… me?”

Solas smirks at her.

 


	23. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little naughtiness at Halashiral. NSFW
> 
> Originally published 1/20/2018

Solas eyes follow the Inquisitor, Iwyn, as she stalks the room, her head trying to track every wayward noble. He grabs another glass of wine from a tray as a servant passing by, and watch her disappear into the garden, her ass swaying in her perfectly tailored gown. She is a vision, and he shouldn’t stare, not here. But he knows what lies beneath the dress, he has felt her skin against his own, her love against his heart. It was unwise of him, and more foolish to continue still, but he has already lost that battle with himself. Tonight, his own apprehension is fading with each glass of excellent wine. For all the terrible things Orlesians do, they do have good taste in wine, and cakes for that matter.

He leans back against the pillar, watching the evening unfold. The intrigue and sex and scandal feels like a long-forgotten memory, of observing things with interest before he became embroiled in his own scandals, a pariah at any social event.  

Later, Iwyn returns, an exasperated look on her face. She changes her path, heading towards him, her frown lessening as she draws near. Her eyes turn warm at the sight of him. It almost undoes him, how she seems to relax, just by his presence.

“How do you like the party, Solas?” she asks.

“I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue that permeates these events.” He realizes halfway through that she doesn’t know what parties he has attended, opulent affairs that would make Empress Celene’s court seem like a barn party. He has attended those too, of course.

“Really?” Her left eyebrow lifts with the question, but he is absolved from explaining when she continues. “This whole affair will drive me to tears before the night is over. The deceits, the whispers, the way these shoes hurt.”

It is her turn to reach for a glass, she takes one for him too and presses into his hand. He has lost count by now, but the wine is really most excellent.

Iwyn is a very patient person, but it seems like the court intrigue and endless diplomacy drives her to frustration in a way waiting in the wilderness for hours does not. He wants to comfort her, the way she soothes his soul with every kind touch.  

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just being here is enough,” she says, and she starts to reach for him, then remembers herself. “Actually, yes there is. Follow me, please.”

She turns and walks away, out the room, and down the stairs. He follows her to an unassuming door at the bottom of them. She produces a key, and whispers, “Varric,” in reply his unvoiced question.

Behind the door is a barely lit hallway, laid with plain stone. This must be the servants entrance, he can smell the food from the kitchens. He has no further time to inspect his surroundings, as Iwyn pushes him up against the wall. She grips his coat and pull him down for a kiss, and he answers greedily. The wine is sweeter on her lips, and he opens his mouth for her, hungry to taste more of her.

They are interrupted by hurried footsteps at the end of the hallway, but Iwyn quickly escapes through a doorway. He follows, closing the door behind him. It is a small storage room, shelves and boxes and dust.

Iwyn looks up at him, a faint blush on her cheeks.

“Thank you, Solas. I really needed the distraction. I am not sure I could take one more whisper behind my back.”

“I am happy to help,” and he is, especially like this, where her scent fills his nose, and the warmth of her is pressed against him. He bends his head and kisses her neck, all the way down to her exposed collarbone and up again. Her skin tastes like sugar and moonlight.

“Solas,” she whispers, her hands roaming over his back, clutching his shoulders. She throws her head back, and he can’t help but push the fabric down until one of her breasts are bare, her dusky nipple inviting him to lick it, to suck it into his mouth. She writhes against him, her dress ruffling. He feels his own arousal, trapped in his pants.

“Solas,” she says again, more urgently.

“I can distract you a bit more, if you want.” He doesn’t slow down for her answer, lost in her skin, in the feel of her, as he traps her against the wall, sliding his hands down to lift her skirt.

“Please,” she moans, as he skims her hips. He wishes he had more time, to keep her here, to take her to soft divan in a room upstairs, to make her cry in pleasure for hours. He doesn’t have the luxury, and he dips a hand into her panties, gently teasing. She moans, and he kisses her, swallowing her sounds, feeling her soft lips on his.

He finds her clit, and circles it, his other hand finding her tit. “Do you want more?” 

She answers by biting down on his lip, causing him to groan. He wants please her, to make her shake and forget the nobles and the name calling. He moves his hand back, his fingers sliding through her wet curls and finding her entrance. She is warm around him, and she kisses his throat, her hands sliding down his chest. He almost loses his focus, but he ignores his own desire to push into her, to rut against the hand that slowly caresses his erection through his clothes.

Instead he enters her slowly with two fingers, just the tips, then out again, slow and deliberate. She moans, something that sounds like _more_ , and he obliges, using his fingers to fuck her in earnest. She flings her head back when he adds a third finger, biting her own lip to keep quiet. He presses the heel of his hand against her clit with every movement, and it doesn’t take long for her to shudder and come around his hand.

He brings her down gently, resting his hand against her sex. Then he withdraws his hand and lifts it to his mouth, licking her wetness from his fingers.

“Better than any wine,” he says and he feels drunk on her, the way she felt around him, the way she looks at him, eyes shining with intent. She starts at his laces, his ignored cock pressing almost painfully against the roughness of his trousers.

 

_Ding_

 

The loud sound of the bell interrupts them.

“ _Fenedhis_!” Iwyn swears. “I am sorry. I need to get back before the next bell. Orlesians!”

“Don’t worry about me, the pleasure was mine. I hope you feel more relaxed.” He lifts his lips in a smile, and he enjoys knowing how she looked, half undressed, falling apart on his fingers.

“I do.” She smiles and kisses him, and fixes her dress. “I wish we had more time, but I guess I can’t have the court know the Inquisitor is fucking her elven serving man in a closet. And I am sorry about that too.” She looks regretful, and apologetic, as if what the court says or does is in any way her fault. He didn’t mind much, it is easier to be unnoticed that way. Now, with the wine and the taste of her on his tongue, he finds that he does not mind at all. It feels like he belongs to her, and he forgets why he can’t.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he can hear the servants hurry and the nobles gossip and Iwyn has a flush in her cheeks that is his doing. He leans forward and fixes a pin, half unraveled from her hair.

“I’ll happily serve you more later, Inquisitor,” he whispers, his lips grazing her ear.  “I want to drink the sweetness between your thighs, I want to make you come again and again.”

Her eyes widen, and then she crushes her lips to his before she hurries out the room.


	24. Unintended

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW
> 
> @mommadreadwolf on tumblr wrote:
> 
> Solas being that turned on that he has a spontaneous orgasm. In front of everyone. But like, he’s in a lake and the party are all bathing and Lavellan gives no fucks about her state of undress and she’s bending down to wash her legs, her breasts bouncing boobily, drops of water running down her spicy ass. He has to lower himself in the water. He can’t fucking move, it’s sooo hot watching her. Then… BOOM!!! I mean.. Let’s face it. He’s so thirsty, no sex for thousands of years. It’s bound to happen.
> 
> I had to write something for it!

They’re in the river, bathing, after a long day of fighting and climbing around sheer cliff walls. In the end Sera had triumphantly claimed the shard, but now they were all worn by the day.

The sun was sinking into the sea, casting long shadows. There were no bears and no rain for once.

Iwyn Lavellan had stripped off her armors, as had Sera and Thom Rainier. Even Solas has shed his robes, unusually bothered by the days work. Soon after, everyone had undressed and into the river, cleaning off dirt and blood and grime.

Iwyn stares a bit, at the water running down Solas torso, and where the water meets the angle of his hip bones.

“So, Solas,” Thom starts, “you say spirits are different demons. How do you truly tell one apart in the fade? ”

“Ah. It is not hard for a mage who understands the fade, or anyone with an open mind.”

He goes on, but her attention is drawn from Solas, as Sera splashes her with water.

“Glad you brought another archer, huh? Never would have gotten that shard without me!”

She laughs, and splashes back, and soon there is a scuffle and a they both end up under the water.

They emerge, laughing.

“Enough, enough!” Iwyn grins.

Thom and Solas have ceased the conversation, and are looking at the girls. Thom shakes his head and turns around to walk up stream, maybe expecting more water based hostilities.

Solas is standing there, looking at her, unreadable expression on his face. She smiles at him and turns to properly wash her face. She bends down and she can feel the water run down her back.

She dips her hands down in the river again, letting the cool, clean water run over her. Each drop running down her skin glints in the orange light of the dying day.

Solas makes a deep sound, like something torn unbidden from his throat. She turns and walks towards him, smiling, with a small sway in her hips.

His eyes follow her, hungry, and the tips of his ears are red.

“Are you alright, Solas?”

“Yes.. I’m fine. I’m… thank you.”

“Just fine?” she grins, and lifts her left hand to rest on his hipbone, drawing a small circle on his skin. 

“Iwyn… vhenan” he says, and his voice is low and strained. “I… you… I’m not…”

She laughs. “I don’t see you at a loss for words often, ma lath. I will mark the occasion.” She shivers in the now cold air, and lifts herself up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I think Thom is already cooking the ram.” 

She turns and walks away, none the wiser. Solas follows a little later, after he has collected himself.


	25. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gets injured.

The battlefield was mess, blood and guts everywhere. There had been more Venatori than expected, but they had prevailed. Iwyn scanned the battle field for her companions. Cassandra, of course, was fine, her shield still held high. Vivienne was wiping blood off her brow, the knight enchanter not afraid of getting personal. Solas… she couldn’t see Solas.

He was just to her left a moment ago, she had felt his barrier snap in place around her. Where was he? 

She rushes to where she had seen him last, eyes scanning the ground. Was he searching for messages on the dead bodies? There was his staff, thrown aside… oh no. She feels a panic in in gut, she wants to be sick, her hands shaking.

She sees his hand, his long elegant fingers. They are red with blood. The world narrows to Solas, what she can see of him, underneath the body of the behemoth. She shoves the monstrous carcass away from him, searching for a movement, a pulse. There is so much blood, it looks like he took a hit to his chest. He is so still, breath shallow.

“Cassandra!” Iwyn yells, the words echoing.

The warrior hurries over, as does Vivienne.

“Relax, my dear, my reserves are not yet exhausted. I can manage a bit of healing.” Vivienne kneels next to Solas, ignoring the blood seeping into her white robe. Iwyn sees the green glow of magic, and then Solas is breathing easier, color returning to his cheeks. He is still now moving.

“Thank you, Vivienne. How bad is it?” Iwyn kneels next to the enchanter, and gently brushes her hands along Solas’ cheeks, down his throat, rests at his chest. Her shoulders sag a little when she feels the steady breath.

“He is fine for now, but he should get some rest. Magic is no substitute for time when it comes to healing.”

“I’ll help” Cassandra bends to pick Solas up, she has already made sure all the enemies are truly dead.

Cassandra picks him up, and Iwyn is relieved to hear him groan in pain. Silence is never a good thing is these situations. Solas is not a small person, but Cassandra carries him all the way to Griffon Wing Keep.

 

* * *

 

Iwyn watches him as he sleeps. She thinks she might have fallen asleep in the chair at some point, but she refuses to leave his room. She is still wearing her armor. She just wants him to wake up. 

Something is touching her cheek. A brief, fleeting caress, but it startles her, brings her back to the present. Solas is sitting halfway up, his face drawn in pain from the effort.

“Solas. You’re awake.” Her heart is beating faster, relief settles in her bones.

“I am. I believe we are back at the keep?”

“We are. Solas…” His fingers have stilled on her cheek, and she covers his hand with her own. “You should lay back down. You need to rest.”

“I am fine. I have survived worse, I … “

She interrupts him. “You are not fine. You were barely breathing! You need to stay resting.” She feels adrenaline rush back. She thinks of him still, unmoving, in pool of blood, and she cannot breathe, her heart filling all her chest.

“Do you plan to tie me to the bed to make sure?” Solas eyes sparkle with humor, but Iwyn is not amused.

“Don’t tempt me.” It comes out low and forceful. She has never seen him this hurt before, and it unbalances her.

Solas’ eyes widen briefly, and he gives off a little laugh. It turns to a cough, wet and weak. He lays back again, eyes closed.

“Let me get you some water. Stay!”

She fetches a tall glass. Bugs Vivenne to cool it, under the desert sun. It won’t last long, dear, she tells, but she does it anyway. Solas drinks deeply, and sets the glass aside.

“Thank you, _vhenan_. You need to rest too. You are still in your armor.”

“I…” She doesn’t know what to say. She is afraid he will disappear, blood turn to rust carried away like dust in the wind, if she does not keep him in sight. She grabs his hand, and holds on tight.

Solas smiles, and the look in his eyes is oddly melancholic for just a moment. “I will not injure myself further, by the time you get undressed. And the bed is big enough for two.”

“Oh. Yes.” She scrambles then, and she is tired, weary, stretched out. Divested of her armor, she feels limp, like a bowstring untied. She crawls into the bed, stretches out beside him. Their fingers touch, and soon both are asleep.


	26. Focus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwyn is trying to read a book. Solas has other ideas. NSFW.

There is a warm calmness to the room. No sounds, except for the crack of the fire and the rustling of pages. Iwyn draws her legs up, engrossed in her book, as Solas put his down. He turns to where he is seated next to her on the couch and smiles at the furrow in her brow. She is captivated by the volume.

She feels his hands on her calves, then higher, as he slides them up her legs. When he reaches her hips, her waistband, she looks at him.

“What are you doing, _ma lath_?”

“ _Vhenan_ ” he replies, saying nothing at all.

“Solas,” she says, dropping her book to her lap. “I am reading.”

“What is it about?” he questions, while pushing her breeches down a little, drawing circles on her hipbones.

“It is a mystery. Leliana recommended it. Someone murdered the Count of Val Rey, and there are at least three suspects. I think his illegitimate son did it.”

Solas chuckles, and she returns her attention to the book. He starts to slide down her pants.

“Solas! I am _reading_!”

He smirks at her. “Keep on reading, _vhenan_. If you can. Lift your hips now.”

She sighs, but complies. Her pants and smalls slide down her legs, and Solas settles himself between them.

He kisses her calves, and lifts her right left over his shoulder. He runs his hands and his tongue over her inner thigh, and she squirms a little. She keeps her eyes fixed on her book, determined to reach the conclusion of this chapter. When he reaches the top of her leg he pauses, and blows hot air across her sex.

“I’m still reading,” she says, and lets her legs fall further apart.

Solas hums, and places his hands on her hips. Then he lowers his head, and lets his tongue trace her slit, parting at her folds.

Iwyn’s heartbeat speeds up, and her blouse feels too warm, but she keeps her eyes fixed her on book.

Solas tongue is teasing, licking, moving lightly everywhere. He finds her clit and swirls around it, then he presses his tongue against it. A noise escapes her, somewhere between a whine and yell.  He continues his ministrations, dipping into her, then out, then up. Sucking, licking, biting her inner thigh. She keeps her book raised, eyes on the page. The he pauses.

She lifts the book.

“You stopped?”

“Do you want me to continue?” His voice is level, but there is a glint in his eyes, and he can’t help but raise the corner of his lips.

Iwyn runs her hand over his scalp, his ear. Places it at the back of his neck and press lightly. “I’m still reading, but you can go on.” It comes out a little breathier than she wanted.

Solas lowers his head and he proceed to lick and suck, but his touch is no longer light. He completely devotes himself, tightening his grip on her hips when she begins to buck against him.

He halts, abruptly.

“Don’t stop,” she says.

“Oh? I think you are too distracted, _vhenan_. I have not heard you turn a page in a while. “

“I’m fine! Just… go on. Please.”

Solas runs his fingertips along her inner thigh, then rests his hand on her sex. His middle finger presses against her clit, and she gasps.

“What happened to the bastard son, then?” His finger slides down, and he pushes the tip inside her.

“Who, what?” She attempts to push her hips up, but his other hand keeps them firmly in place. He pushes his finger in, and out. Once. Twice.

“The one you think did it. In your book.”

“He is. I… ahhh!” Solas lowers his face to her clit again, and sucks hard while his finger keeps pumping. She gives up, and drops the book on the floor, flinging her arm back. The other rests at his neck.

He lifts his head far enough away that he can speak, but he keeps moving his finger. Just the one, and it is not enough.

“It seems that I have won, then?”

“Yes, yes, you’ve won.” She slips her hand under his chin and holds him there, looking up at her. “What do you want?”

“You.” The sincerity in his eyes burn her, and she forgets the game, the book and herself. She could drown in his gaze and never wake up. She pulls him closer, until he lets go of her hips, and they kiss. She can feel his hardness press into and she wants, she _needs_. She twists in his arms, and raise herself to her knees, her arms settled on the couch’s armrest.

She casts a look over her shoulder. “Have me, then.“

Solas does not hesitate, and she can hear the fabric move as he pushes his pants down, and then his cock is pushing against her entrance, sliding inside of her, filling her. She lets out a moan, and Solas makes a noise behind her. She can’t tell where she ends and he begins.

He moves, and then they are fucking in earnest, he doesn’t go slow. His hands grip her ass, her hips, bringing them together at a furious pace. It doesn’t take long before they both reach their climax.

“ _Vhenan_ ,“ Solas says, resting his head against her shoulder. After a moment, they fall on the coach in a tangle of limbs.

 “ _Ma lath_ ,” Iwyn says, clutching his shoulder. Then she punches it lightly. “I am going to have to re-read half a chapter.”

 

 

 

 


	27. Blue (NEW) - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First published 7/6/2018

The sun is hot, beating down on the marketplace in Highever. The booths are shaded, muted cream and blue and green and yellow tents erected where the merchants offer their wares.

Iwyn hears them from 3 booths away.

“Atrocious.”

“Indeed, Vivienne. Not as bad as this, though.  Who would be seen in this?”

“There is no accounting for Ferelden fashion.”

“That is one thing we can agree on.”

She sighs.

“Do you sense anything out of the artifacts, or are you shopping?”

“There is nothing here worth buying, my dear. And no magical signatures.”

“We didn’t find anything either.”

“I hope that the apostate is certain. I would hate to have missed what we came for due to incompetence.”

“I assure you, Vivienne, I am more than capable.”

Solas is tense behind her, and she brushes her hand over his. They are still careful, but she is the Inquisitor, and she doesn’t really want to be careful. She is in love.

Dorian frowns, and pulls out some deep blue fabric from the merchant’s piles.

“Now, this is better.”

He holds it up in front of Solas.

“This would be such an improvement.”

“The blue does bring out your eyes, Solas. And velvet would be much more suitable for a member of the Inquisition that whatever… that is.”

Iwyn snickers.

“I neither want nor need your opinion on my wardrobe. Altus. Enchanter.”

She follows as Solas brushes past them, hurrying down the dusty road. She nods to the Inquisition scout who pretends to browse the beeswax candles in the booth across the street. She takes Solas’ hand.

“You would look nice in blue, I think.”

“We are here to do a job, not to…”

She stops him. She stands on her toes. She kisses his cheek.

“Relax, _vhenan_. We can enjoy ourselves while we look for this artifact.”

“Hmm. But I am not buying new clothes to appease those people.”

“I prefer you without a shirt anyway. Look, this man is selling lemonades. We should get some, for everyone.”

He does relax, the tenseness leaving his shoulders with a small smile.

 


	28. Roots (NEW) - E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted 8/25/2018
> 
> This chapter is Explicit, light dom/sub.

Solas is waiting for her in her room.

Iwyn is finally done drinking brandy with nobles. The brandy was smooth, but the nobles were haughty and difficult. She wished it was the other way around, gentle people and challenging drinks.

Solas is sitting in her bed, reading a book. He isn’t wearing a shirt. Her heart skips. She didn’t expect to find him here, relaxing and reading and waiting.

They are intimate often, but until now, she has asked him to join her, or he has shown up at her door in the depth of night. Only in tents on the road do they start and end their nights together. Here in Skyhold, he has kept his distance, like he does not want to give in, or he does not think he is welcome.

He is welcome. She wants him. She wants him in the deep night and the broad daylight, as part of her life. Here and where she will go after Corypheus is dead.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he says, closing his book with a smile.

He belongs here, in her room, waiting for her.

“ _Vhenan_.” Now he frowns. “I hope I was not presuming – you did say – ”

“Solas, yes. I was just a bit surprised, of course you can read in my bed. I love that. My bed is yours, I mean. I told you. _Ma lath._ ”

My love.

She starts to undress, and he asks about her evening, chuckles at her complaints. He stands and helps her with the dress, his fingers long and elegant down her back, undoing the buttons. She shivers when he kisses her neck.

She loves his closeness, his hands on her body, running over shoulders, and she knows she can melt into him. He will take her apart, skilled, considerate, lovely. But she can’t let go of the image of him, sitting on her bed. Fitting in, half naked and hers. It made her yearn for something else. For exploring him as she sees fit.

She doesn’t dare to ask what she wants. For him to sit down when he is done with the dress, for her to push him back, to touch and decide how fast they go.  The last time she wanted – the last time she did, when she pushed someone back on the bed, when she did too much, too often. Too aggressive. There were angry words and broken promises.

But he was in her room, waiting for her. And she does not turn and soften into his embrace when he kisses her neck again, when he flicks his tongue along her ear.

“What do you want, _vhenan_?”

She turns and she runs her hands over his chest.

“I want -- I want to touch you.”

It’s almost what she wants. She wants to touch him and decide where, and if, he can touch her. She wants to push him onto the bed, she wants him to yield.

“You can do what you want, _vhenan_.”

She doesn’t want to take this too far before she knows what he’d allow. She is already in love, and he has become too important, too fast. She had decided to be careful with her heart, but she couldn’t, and it’s too late, so she wonders if she should hide away forever. She has no desire to chase away someone else.

She knows he is holding back too and she wonders why. Maybe someone has to speak up, maybe something has to give. Maybe it’s time to take a leap.  

She kisses him, soft and hot and urgent. His arms come up around her, and she pulls them down. Hopes he doesn’t mind, her heart thundering in her chest.

“I want you to – I want to you without you touching me. I want you to wait.”

His hands let go of hers, and they fall to his side. He smirks. And he waits.

She touches his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. She plants kisses on his chest, and he lets out a soft sound. His skin is warm and his hands clench at his sides, but he doesn’t touch. She slides her fingers under the top of his pants.

“Can you take these off? And lie down on the bed?”

“Of course, _vhenan_.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling, and he does as she asks.

She touches him everywhere, her hands wandering up his legs, her lips kissing the inside of his thighs.  Her nails scrape over his nipples, her tongue trace his hipbone. He shudders and moans. He asks if he can touch and she says no. His eyes darken and his cock twitches. She strokes him, first lightly, then firmly and she watches him unravel, his body flush with desire.

She decided, she did, and he is hers.

She sits above him, her own need slick between her legs. She guides him to her, large and hard in her hand, and she wants him. She sinks down slowly, loving how he feels, loving the sigh of her name on his lips.

Solas’ eyes are wide, pupils blown by lust. He sees her, all of her.  He raises his hands and places them by his head, his body stretched under her.

“You can hold my wrists like this, if you want.”

_Oh._

She does want, she wants to hold him under her, she wants to have him and keep him. She moves her hands off his chest and she winds her fingers around his wrists, pressing his arms into the mattress. She can barely fit her hand around them, but it doesn’t matter, not when she can hold him down like this.

Not when he moans and bucks into her, when her sex is throbbing and she can feel her peak rising, her hips moving faster, frantic, sliding up and down his cock.

No one has ever offered her this, but he does, his arms lifted in surrender, his head thrown back, and she is pushing him down and she has him, she has him, and her pleasure washes over her, crashing, and she holds him down, and Solas grunts with his own release, and she has him.

She collapses on top of him, and she doesn’t let go at first. He doesn’t struggle, or pulls his arms away, he lets her hold him. She buries her face in his neck and she slowly release him and only then does his arms come around her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles.

He chuckles. His hands squeeze her ass.

 “I should thank you.”

She lifts her head, and she frowns at him.

“What for? You allowed me to – I know it’s not. Most people – most men don’t like relinquishing control.”

“They are fools. I enjoyed that very much.”

“You didn’t mind?”

“Not at all. _Ar lath ma_.”

She doesn’t know what to do with the trust he puts before her. It is a new, burning joy. Her love for him settles deep in her heart, roots so deep they can never be pulled out.

“ _Ar lath ma_ , Solas.”


	29. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and his own hand. Lavallen likes that. 
> 
> *NSFW*

“Still working, I see.” Iwyn has a smile on her lips when she walks through the doorway to the rotunda.

Solas looks up from his book, briefly.

“I guess it is getting late.” He returns his gaze to the book, intent on finishing the paragraph he was reading. “This is a very interesting text.”

Soundlessly, she makes her way to his desk. A huntress looking for prey. She slides herself between his chair and the desk, peering down at his book.

“Fascinating, I’m sure.” She leans forward and traces his jaw with her finger, and then continues with the lightest of touches up his ear.

“ _Vhenan_ , please.” His brows draw together slightly, and he keeps his attention on the book.

She hops on the table, pushing several important papers aside. One of them flutters slowly to the floor behind her.

“Please, what?” Her voice carries amusement. “Make sure you will stay up all night, getting a kink in your neck?” She leans forward, plucks the book from his hand.

Solas narrows his eyes, squares his shoulders. Every action controlled.

“The book can wait, Solas. Everyone has gone to bed.” She leans back and arches her back slightly. This late, it is colder inside, and her nipples show through her thin shirt.

As he reaches for the book, she grabs his wrist. She traces a circle in the palm his hand. She lets her legs fall open, and lifts one foot, drawing it up his calf.

Solas’ intake of breath is loud. He pulls his hand free, and slides it over her breast. His other hand finds its way under her shirt, dips below the waistband of her pants to caress her ass.

She moans, loudly, and she knows how this will go. His focus is turned from the book, and he will keep it on her, hands moving with skilled precision. He will mark himself in her pleasure, drown himself in her skin.

But now, now she wants to see him undone. His focus lost. His hands trained on another target.

 “No.” She pushes his hands away, and he stills immediately. Waiting.  “Touch yourself.”

He nods, and leans back in his chair. The corner of his lips lift up, and he slides the palm of his hand over his cock, already hard beneath his breeches. He keeps his eyes on her.

She moves back on the desk, crosses her legs. Something heavy falls to the floor this time, but neither cares.  “Go on.”

Slowly, too slowly, he undoes his pants. His cock freed, Iwyn doesn’t hide her hungry gaze. He slowly draws the tips of his fingers up the underside of his shaft, then lightly caresses the head. He lets out a low hiss when Iwyn licks her lips.

He lifts his hand, then pushes 2, then 3 fingers into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around them. Back to his cock, he wraps his whole hand around it, starts to slowly pump. Then a little faster. He bites his lip, to keep quiet.

“I love seeing you like this. I want to hear you too, no one is here.” Iwyn idly thumbs her own nipple with her left hand. She can see his control slipping, and she wants more. She doesn’t care that few places in Skyhold are truly private, no matter the hour.

This makes him let go. He moans, lets out a long, lewd noise as his hand move faster on his cock, a twisting of his wrist added to the motion. She thinks of how those hands are both delicate and skillful, strong and rough. How good they look, wrapped around himself. She tells him.

Solas’ pupils are wide, impossible dark. His other hand grips the armrest, and his head falls back, tendons in his neck standing out. His hips lift off the chair as he comes, spilling into his hands.

Iwyn is pleased with the mess. He looks wrecked. Perfect. She moves off the desk and leans over him. Kisses him greedily.

“Beautiful. I love you, Solas.” The words echo in the empty dome.

“ _Ar lath ma_ , Iwyn.” His voice is shaking. Good.

She wipes his hand clean with the loose end of her shirt, then looks at his lap. “We should be able to find a washcloth in my rooms. And I’m not done with your fingers, _ma lath_.”

Solas chuckles, and she pulls him after her, leaving the rotunda to the books, and the birds above.


	30. Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Iwyn gets overly amorous at a party.
> 
> *NSFW*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a Kinktober 2017 prompt - aphrodisiacs.   
> Original publish date: 10/1/2017

“Come, _vhenan_ ,” Solas says, and he pulls her through the doorway, away from the party. She follows him gladly into the empty hallway, rows of doors and statues and art and vases.  The music is muted when he closes the door, and her own giggling is loud as he presses his lips to hers.

“You look so beautiful,” he mumbles and kisses her cheeks and her brow. “Radiant.” 

She crashes into his chest, lifting herself up on her toes to get closer, pushing him against the wall. His hips buck into her, and she can feel his hardness through the layers of her skirt.

“So eager,” she says, and they come together again. Solas uses his thigh to lift her slightly, and he sucks at her lower lip, then pushes his tongue into her mouth greedily.

His hands move to her ass, digging his fingers into fabric and flesh. She pulls back and kisses the corner of his mouth.

“How many of the little cakes did you have, _ma lath_?”

“The cakes?” He busies himself kissing her jaw, then he scrapes his teeth against it. She gasps, surprised by his passion. He always holds back, the invisible shadows of his mind binding him.

“The pink ones. Josephine told…” Solas sucks the column of her throat, and she wonders why she doesn’t care if there will be marks left by tomorrow. Then she remembers. “The countess likes to procure cloudberries from the Anderfels. They are said to heighten desires.”

“Your skin tastes sweeter than any berry, _vhenan_.”

He pays her words no heed, his mouth moving down her chest. His left hand eagerly pushes at the fabric of her dress until her breasts spill out. He keeps her braced on his strong leg, one hand beneath her ass, the other at her back. He sucks her nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing and tongue swirling. She forgets what she should be concerned about. She had three of the tiny cakes and she rocks her hips into him, one foot off the floor.

The pressure might be enough to make her come, but it is not enough, it is not what she needs. She cranes her neck and bites his ear. 

Solas growls and he lets her slide down while he pushes her dress up. His fingers finds her soaked underwear, her wet entrance.

“I want to drown in you,” he says. “Please.” His eyes suddenly locked with hers, and he looks desperate, lost and found and redeemed. She can’t breathe, but finds her voice.

“Yes. More, Solas. More.”

“ _Ma nuvenin_.” In one dizzying moment, he lifts and spins her and pushes her against the wall. He pulls at the lacings of his pants, and he takes his cock out, hard and wanting and he doesn’t even pause, he buries himself in her and she might have screamed his name as her legs wrap around him.

Her right foot catches something and she hears a loud crash as a garish vase falls to the floor and shatters into pieces. She doesn’t care, and neither does Solas. He moves and grunts and she clings to him, pushing up against him.

She hears a door and the clatter of pottery must have been loud. A head pokes through the doorway, and she glares at the masked noble, too far gone to care. Solas keeps fucking her. The man quickly retreats and she thinks there is some reason this is terrible, but right now it slips her mind. It is not as their relationship is a secret.

“I want you… I need to…” and then Solas falls into Elven and she was never great at it, and he talks of stars and oceans and time and she lets his voice seep into her bones, slide down to her burning core, and she bites his neck to keep from yelling when she comes. Solas thrusts grow erratic and faster and then he follows her.

They stay wrapped together for a little while, and he is still half hard when he finally slides out of her. He bends to kiss her neck again.

“ _Ar lath ma_. I do not think I can have enough of you. I need more,” he says, as his mouth travel down her collar bone.

“Solas.”

He continues, but her head is a little clearer now.

“Solas.”

He finally looks at her.

“Someone is going to notice the vase, and I bet the gossip is already starting. I better go tell Josephine someone saw us.”

“I don’t care about them,” he says and he presses himself into her as she tries to make them both halfway presentable. Reluctantly, if she is honest. She has never seen him so unrestrained. He his hard again when she closes his pants, and she almost forgets the diplomatic emergency.

“Solas. Ma lath. How many of those cakes did you have?”

She slides her hand in his and pulls him towards the ballroom.

“A dozen I think. Maybe more? They were delicious.”

She better find Josie as fast as possible. Her and Solas will be occupied for the rest of the night.


	31. Shadows (NEW) - T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 9/28/2018

Usually, she falls asleep before Solas does. For all his love of the fade, he always has something to read, or a thought to write down. He has a stack of paper and books by her bed now, something of his he leaves behind.

He is reading, and she has not yet fallen asleep. She breathes deep and evenly, trying to slip into her dreams. Tomorrow, like every day, will bring meetings and war and new problems.

Solas puts the tome down with a sigh.

“If only I could… It cannot work.”

She has almost drifted away, and expects him to pick up a note, furiously scribbling out ideas for his problem. Instead, he sighs again.

“ _Vhenan_. I am not worthy of your love.”

A whisper into the dark, not meant for her to hear. She cannot ignore it.

“Of course you are.”

She sits up, fully awoken by his heavy words. She takes his hand in hers. She looks him in his eyes.

“You're a wonderful man, Solas. You are kind, and loving, and smart. I love you, and you are more than worthy of anything I can offer.”

“ _Vhenan_ – I should tell you…”

He clutches her hand with desperation, shadows lurking in his gaze. She wants to chase them until they are gone, but he has to be willing to bring them into the light. Patience.

“ _Ma lath_. You can look for a solution tomorrow. Come, sleep.”

He shakes his head, but he kisses her greedily when she offers. She pulls him to her, and they fall asleep entwined.

Lovers, a little longer.


	32. Little Joys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solavellan drabble, glimpses from the relationship.

It is the little things that bring him joy. Joy he does not deserve, that he should not claim. Maybe that is why he cannot walk away. 

Sometimes, she brings him cakes, and eat half of them. Grinning, crumbs on her lips. He kisses them away, and forgets there will be a time he cannot do so. 

Sometimes, his hear leaps at her interest, in her smile when he tells her a story she hasn’t heard. Feet in his lap, she looks content and happy. It is a joy to see her so, the stress of the Inquisition forgotten a moment. 

Sometimes, she laughs and kisses his throat and passes by on her way to the Commanders office. Casually, like time is not running out on them. Cocks her eyebrow in a promise to return, later. 

Sometimes the joyful moments make their way unannounced, unassuming. She takes his hands in hers, inspect them. Runs the tips of her fingers over his knuckles. “You have beautiful hands, _Vhenan_ ,” she says. He doesn’t know what to say to that. He never thought his hands…  beautiful… in any sort of way. She smiles and kisses his palms. 

Sometimes he forgets, in his joy. When she gracefully leaps and shoots and whoops when the Venetori hits the ground. He just smiles at her battle flush, the power she displays. Time is nothing, battle stays the same. The adrenaline of combat, the joy of seeing someone beautiful, sure of their movement, the surety of their actions.   

Sometimes, she tells him to come to her room, to read while she tries to reply to letters. Tired, she asks if he can read to him. He happily obliges. Head her lap, he falls asleep to her voice. It is a joy that will stay with him forever. 


	33. Stumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwyn has an off day. Set after Crestwood breakup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a challenge by (excellent writer) [EllsterSMASH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllsterSMASH), who wanted to see our Inquisitors on when they have a bad day, when they mess up.  
> Originally published 5/11/2018

As soon as Iwyn opens her eyes, she squeezes them shut again. The light is too bright, too blue, to loud. Her head is pounding. Her mouth is dry. She is still wearing her clothes, and the blankets are way too warm, too heavy. She throws them back and sits, and she immediately regrets moving her body.  

It has been years since she has had a hangover like this, even the one night she drank with Bull didn’t feel like this. She doesn’t imbibe like this, especially not with duties and appointments and a war to win. It must be late, later than she usually wakes, but she can’t care just yet. She can’t remember what she was supposed to do this morning. 

She tries her eyes again, squinting. 

There is a glass of water on the night table, and she drinks greedily. Someone has been kind enough to leave it for her, probably the same someone who took of her boots last night. There is a note next to the water, a small scrap of paper with Solas’ neat handwriting.

 Oh no. 

She picks it up.

 

_I hope your morning is not too unpleasant. I apologize for not removing your clothes for your comfort, but I deemed it inappropriate._

_Ir abelas._

 

He didn’t sign it. 

Inappropriate for who? It’s not as if he hasn’t seen her naked. She drinks more water, note in her hand, her thumb flicking over the words.

_Ir abelas, ir abelas, ir abelas._

Had he carried her here? Put her to bed? She doesn’t remember getting to her quarters on her own. 

She had been drinking in the tavern. They had put down a dragon, and the celebration had gotten out of hand. They are so very close to finally ending Corypheus, and everyone is tightly worn and weary, welcoming an opportunity to let off steam. Solas had not been present, of course. He never is anymore. She recalls that upsetting her, and she had kept drinking. She missed him. She misses him. _Mythal’enaste_.  At some point she had thought it would be a great idea to go talk to Solas. To confront him.

She groans, and she puts her head in her hands. She remembers now.   

She had gone to find him, and he had been at his desk, studying. She had unbuttoned her shirt. She had been drunk, unsteady. Shit. She had taunted him, and begged him, and asked him what was wrong with her. He had stood, mumbling empty apologies, attempting to placate her. She had pressed, on pressed closer, raised her voice.

Was she too assertive? Did he want him if she was meeker? All her fears had emerged, bitter and sharp and Solas had not deserved it.

“You should not ever have to appear meek to anyone,” he’d said. “There is nothing wrong with _you_.”

“Really,” she had answered. “You still want me, then. Are you too afraid to admit it?”

“You’re drunk,” was his reply, and then she had reached for him – oh no, she had run her hand down his chest, she had wanted to grab his cock, to prove him wrong. She had no right, and she had done it anyway. He had stopped her, with stern “Inquisitor,” and a shake of his head. Embarrassment and regret burns through her, and she gulps down more water.

She had been angry, hearing her title, angry about the distance he put between them. She had tried to push him, but flailed and stumbled, ungracefully. He had managed to hold on to her, so she didn’t smash her head into the ground. She had been ready to fight him, to kiss him, she doesn’t even know what she was thinking. And he had caught her, of course he had. He still cares, just not enough to stay.

She remembers nothing after that. Had he escorted her to room? Had he carried her? He had made sure she was in her bed, he had put a glass of water out _. Ir abelas_. She should be the one to apologize, but right now she doesn’t want to look him in the eyes. A shameful drunken display, a loss of control so unlike her.

She peels of her shirt, sticky, too warm, and she – gently – lowers herself to the bed. Just an hour more of sleep, and the pounding will end, and she can go apologize to Solas.

 

“Inquisitor, Inquisitor!” 

Someone is pounding at the door, echoing the pain pounding at her temples.

“Your Grace, Lady Montilyet wants to know if you were ready?”

For what?

“I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she yells. She wants wallow in peace, but there is no peace.

She sits, she stands, and she remembers. A meeting with some Ferelden Bann. Is it really that late? She is disconnected, and she is not properly dressed, and she can’t remember what it was about. She meant to read up on it this morning.

Now she has to rush. She splashes some water on her face, she puts her hair up in a messy bun. She finds a clean shirt and an almost clean pair of pants. She throws on a leather vest with the inquisition logo. Should she find a dress? No time, dresses take time.

She grabs the letter from the Bann and Josie’s notes, and she hurries down the stairs. Maybe she can figure out what this about. Something with goats, or soldiers or goat soldiers? No, that makes no sense. She flips the note and she steps wrong, and she stumbles, her ankle twisting before she rights herself.

_Fenedhis!_

It hurts. Nothing broken or badly twisted, but she will feel this for the rest of the day. Whatever it is she will do later in the day, she has no idea. Everything is spinning out of her grip.

She hurries to the Bann and his goats, as fast as she can on her painful ankle.

Bann Maredes is a large person, in large red tunic, making large noises with his large mouth. Her head is still pounding.

“Ahh, she finally makes an appearance! “

“Good day, Bann Maredes”. At least she remembered his name. He should be grateful.  Josie gives her look, probably about her state of dress. She normally is well prepared, well dressed, punctual.

The Bann looks her up and down, and frowns.

“I’ve heard you were supposed to be one of those wild Dalish elves, but where is your….” He gestures to his face. Naturally, a human who is actually well informed. Great. She has no desire to explain, least of all to him. 

“And I thought Fereldens loved their dogs, where is your Mabari?”

That what not what she should have said. She is good at this, being nice and diplomatic, and ignoring the rudeness. Not today.

“What the Lady Inquisitor means is that she is very impressed with mabaris, and she loves the breed.”

Josephine’s smile is a little too bright, too wide.

The discussion goes downhill from there, and when the Bann leaves, he has been well paid for the goats he voluntarily gifted to the Inquisition earlier. Any other day, she would have been made of friend of a man like him, but not today.

Iwyn knows that Solas is not the only one she needs to apologize to.


	34. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Crestwood breakup, the team has a tough fight.

The fight caught them by surprise, and now they were pushed hard. So many Red Templars, roaring, moving, charging.

Arrow in the neck of an enemy, fallen now to his left. He didn't even see him. He tore at the veil, hammered the raw energies of fade as a punch to an enemy. Another and another. He was out of healing potions, and he suspected so were everyone else. Assaulted on the way back to the camp. His last lyrium potion burned like bitter poison in his throat.

Sparks of electricity. The smell of ozone from Cassandra's divine light. Iwyn's bow sang again and again.

He saw a behemoth, out of the corner of his eye. Dorian was busy, chain lightning arching across the room. The monstrosity was charging Iwyn where she stood next to the Trevinter mage, ignoring Cassandra and her shield. He threw a quick barrier, but it was not enough. She went down, fast.

More enemies, he couldn’t get to her. Air passing into his lungs, smell of blood and magic. He kept going. Suddenly there were no more templars, the air still heavy and thick.

Dorian was crouched at the inquisitor’s side, and Cassandra rushed over. He took a steadying breath, Iwyn was probably ok. Probably. He stepped towards her, across so much blood. The forest floor was squishy with gore beneath him.

  
The other mage fixed him with a look. "She will be ok. Cassandra, can you carry her to the camp? 

He froze in his path. Of course. He was not the one to tend to her, to carry her. No longer. He had no right. He never had, but he pretended, for a little while. He closed his eyes. This was better. She would be ok. She would go on without him.

This was the way it should be. She didn’t need him.


	35. Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post Crestwood breakup, Solas gets injured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally published 11/11/2017

The battle is unexpected, fast and harsh. The bandits overwhelm them, they are far more organized than they should be. Solas’ last thought before he hits the ground is if they are organized by Corypheus directly, or by the Venatori. Then the pain in his right side, in his left knee, is too great and he collapses.

 

The next thing he knows is waking up in a moving, swaying wagon. His head is resting on something hard and soft and everything smells nice. He opens his eyes and Iwyn is looking down at him. She lets out a sigh as his eyes find hers, full of relief.

“Vhenan,” he says, and it comes out thick, and he is dizzy and he think there is a reason why he should not say this. But she smiles a little and caresses his face, her fingertips leaving trails of gold on his skin.

“Rest,” she says, and she sounds concerned, or maybe she sounds sad. “We will soon be in Skyhold and have the healers look at you.”

He closes his eyes, and there is some pain, but he is not alone, and he falls asleep.

 

He wakes in his own room, small and cozy high in the fortress. He remembers the battle and the confusion and the bandit he didn’t see. His knee is bruised and he has a clean white bandage around his chest. Breathing hurts a little. 

There is a warmth in his hand, and his fingers is entwined with Iwyn’s. She is asleep on the chair next to him, and he is not alone. His bandages feel tighter than they should, and breathing is suddenly difficult. She is watching over him. He feels her hand in his, solid and dry and calloused. It is more than he deserves. He should rouse her gently, make some noise, and have her leave believing he did not know she was here.

He cannot.

He cannot let go.

He clings to her like a lifeline until he sleeps again.

 

He is alone when he wakes next, and he ignores the stab of dismay. He has no right. Instead, he flexes his feet and turns his legs and presses on his chest. Still sore, but much better. He can taste the bitterness of a healing potion on his tongue.

He considers getting out of bed, and he sits up when the door open. Iwyn walks in, carrying a tray.

“Don’t sit up,” she says, “you will injure yourself further.”

He does not move.

She sets the tray down and he can smell the rich broth from the steaming bowl on the tray. 

“Food now, or after I change your bandages?”

“Now, please.” He is hungry, and he eats when she hands him the bowl, their fingers brushing together. He does not think of it, and he does not think of her holding his hand.

She helps him sit half up, a thick pillow behind his back. When he is done, she changes the bandages on his chest. She tells him he has three broken ribs and a slash wound. The healers did their best but he needs some rest. Her fingers brush over his skin, and they tremble. Her voice is steady, measured, and then she is quiet.

Iwyn’s hands linger when she is done, and then she draws back. She bites her lip and she looks him in the eyes.

“Heal fast. Please.” Her hands fidget idly with the edge of her shirt. “I need you. I mean… Corypheus is near.”

He takes her hand, and no, he can’t, and he lets go.

“Thank you,” he says, and he pauses and then, “lethallan.”

“Of course, Solas.” She moves from the bed and turns to the door. “I would have done that for anyone.”

She exits, closing the door behind her, and he is left alone in the small and blue room. He closes his eyes, and pain wrecks him, and it has nothing to do with his injuries.

Outside, Iwyn leans her forehead against the cool stone of the doorframe. “Ar lath ma, Solas.”


	36. Drinks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the defeat of Corypheus and Solas leaving, Iwyn goes to visit Clan Lavellan. Iwyn and her brother Branwen.

It smells like home, even after all these years. Leather and wood smoke and herbs. It doesn’t feel like home, though, not really. Iwyn walks to the back of the dwelling, where Branwen, her brother, is bend over a worn table. He has retrieved 2 glasses and is looking at some labelled bottles, sorting through them.

“Dad made some spirits with felandaris last fall,” he says.

“Really? Did it turn out well?”

“Debatable. But it is good with these, if you make it right.“ Branwen gestures to the basket of bright orange seaberries on the table.

Iwyn raises and eyebrow.

“Well, maybe it is too _rustic_ for you now, inquisitor. Too _Dalish_ ,” Branwen mutters.

“Don’t be like that, Bran.” Iwyn sighs. This is why she didn’t want to come home. She doesn’t like how they all look at her, her hand. Her face. She fists her left hand and stops herself from running it over her eye, where Sylaise’s vallaslin once marked her.

She decides to change to subject.

“So, I heard Rasha gave birth to twins?”

Branwen relaxes his shoulders, he really didn’t want a fight, it seems. “Yes, she did. They are 2 months old now. Healthy.” He smiles. He is best with offensive magic, but as Second he helps with everything, including healing, birth, and care taking of the Clan.

“I should go visit,” Iwyn muses.

Branwen nods, and crushes some berries in the glasses. He adds some fine white sugar and swirls it around with a long wooden spoon.

“Sugar? Dad wouldn’t approve.” Iwyn smiles. He likes his drinks bitter, but of course he is not here, tired of the kids bickering. Probably smoking with Radavur.

“Your inquisition is good for something.” Branwen smiles at her, and then he looks away. “One of your agents delivered this.”

“I see.” Josephine, she thinks. Keeping sure everyone is happy, and loyal. Loyal and happy. Iwyn makes a note to thank her, again. Maybe she should buy some of Mihren’s leatherwork, exquisitely tooled pouches and armor. She is sure Josie would find some noble who would enjoy displaying it like an exotic piece of art. Loyal and happy. She makes a face, and the mark on her hand flares up, turning it into a grimace. Happy and loyal, only for the small price of Dalish pride.

Branwen brings her back to the present. “It was an elf agent. A city elf – do you talk with them much? Your agents.”

“Some?” she answers, and then she notices than her brother is still looking down, busying himself with the drinks, though they already should be done. Is that a blush on his cheeks, she wonders?  “What did you think of my agent, Brannie?”

“Oh nothing, nothing, I was just wondering. Here, try this.”

He pushes a glass in her hand, and then he tosses in a few more berries, covered in a sheen of frost he has conjured. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she is impressed. Her brother has grown skilled.

She lifts her glass, and takes a sip. The bitter muddled berries, the sweetness and the odd taste of felandaris, followed by the strong burn of her father’s spirits. Not bad at all, it tastes like home and like a bright new start all at once.

“It is good,“ she tells her brother. “Thank you.” She smiles, and she is not going to let go so easily. “What was the name of that agent, again? I take it you talked with her.” She should send her up here again, it seems.

“Sarah. I think. Not that it matters. I was just asking.” Branwen drinks again, and then he looks directly at her.  “Haleir passed through a few weeks ago. He told me he will probably be engaged soon.”

“Bran. Please don’t.“ She looks down at her drink, and takes another sip. “It was over years ago.”

“You’re still a member of this clan, are you not? It is my duty – “

“It is NOT,” she can’t help but snap. “I am not available for you, or dad, or Deshanna, to marry off!”

Branwen frowns. “It wasn’t what I meant, I just thought… it’s that guy, right?” He gestures vaguely towards her face.

“He might come back.” And she can hear how weak and broken that sounds, and she doesn’t want to think of Solas at all.  She doesn’t want to feel like this, but he owes her an explanation, and she will get it. She will find him.

Branwen just tilts his head. “Another?”

“Please,” she says.


	37. Stone Bear Hold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the defeat of Corypheus, Iwyn Lavellan goes to Frostback Basin

When she wakes, her throat is scratchy, she is not used to smoke inside the huts. The hospitality of Stone Bear Hold is appreciated, but right now she misses a simple tent.

She stands on the edge of the cliff, and the early sun paints everything like an artist. The sky is pale lavender, and she can see her breath mist in the cold air.

She was dreaming, again, of Solas. She doesn’t want to think of it, of him. She misses him, like an ache of a bruise. It is familiar now, but don’t press on it.

She finds it hard here, tracking Inquisitor Ameridan and Telana. Their love so bright, like a fire in a dark night. And yet they did not die together. Why, she wonders? Why did they part? Die Telena die alone? Why did Solas leave, and is he alone?

Her throat still feels rough, and she wheezes when she draws a deep breath.

Someone is coming up behind her. Not heavy enough to be Cassandra, not light enough to be Sera.

Svarah Sun Hair comes to stand beside her. The Thane silently holds out a tin cup and she takes it. Clear, cold water. It feels good and fresh and clears her mind.

“Good morning,” the Thane says, her voice rich and melodious. Standing tall besides her, she is solid and reassuming. “I could hear you coughing. Where your sleeping quarters adequate?”

“They were, I thank you for your generosity towards the Inquisition, Thane. I just needed some fresh air. And water, too it seems.” She smiles and takes another drink. Tries to forget her thoughts, her dreams.

“There is something on your mind, Inquisitor. Are you worried about the Hakkonites? It did not seem so earlier.”

“You are right. It is nothing to do with the cult of Hakkon. I am just… missing someone.” Like a hole in her heart, every day. She doesn’t understand. He said he would explain things after Corypheus was slain. Yet he disappeared with no trace. Is he safe, she thinks, and then she pushes the thought away. Why does she still worry? Why does she still love?

“I see.” Savarh simply stays, silent otherwise. Steady and peaceful. She is grateful. She doesn’t want questions, or pity, like Varric’s gazes.

She is glad to be out here, with a purpose. Every time she walks by Solas’ desk in Skyhold she is reminded of the emptiness. She wishes Telena and Ameridan had faced a better end.

 

 


	38. Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experimental drabble spanning the relationship. Sadness.
> 
> slight nsfw mention

 

The air is cold and the sun is blinding.

" _Ar lath ma_ ” he says, and he means it.

He thinks it unwise when he leaves.

 

* * *

 

“Good afternoon,” she smiles, walking to his desk. “I thought you might be hungry?” She offers a tray of honey and cheese.

_Ar lath ma_

“Thank you,” he replies, smiling back.

 

* * *

 

 

“Solas,” she gasps, clutching the sheets.

_Ar lath ma_

He says nothing, smiling into her sex. Brings her higher, further, apart.

 

* * *

 

 

He reaches her side during the battle, a quick barrier covering her. She fights harder, beautiful in bloodshed.

“Thank you Solas, just in time.” Eyes bright with power.

_Ar lath ma_

“You’re welcome” he replies.

 

* * *

 

 

“In another world…” he offers, voice broken. She questions, and the truth is stuck in his throat.

_Ar lath ma_

“I can’t, I am sorry.” Like a coward.

 

* * *

 

 

After the battle, the orb is as broken at his feet. His heart broken in his chest.

_Ar lath ma_

“What we had was real”, he says. He turns and walks away.

 

* * *

 

 

He holds himself rigid when he sees her, radiant, battle ready.

_Ar lath ma_

 “I suspect you have questions,” he says, not reaching for her.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Var lath vir suledin_ ” she cries, and he wishes it could be true.

“My love,” he calls her, but he leaves her on the ground, behind him.

_“I love you_ ,” he whispers, desperate, alone in a desolate place. The eluvian is closed behind him.


End file.
